


Flotsam

by sleepyowlet



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Drama & Romance, Everybody Lives, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, awful nautical puns in bed, so please always read those if you have triggers, traumatic childbirth in the epilogue, will add additional trigger warnings if requested
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-05-13 05:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19244554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepyowlet/pseuds/sleepyowlet
Summary: "I will have to be frank, Hector. You are very, very ugly. So how could you produce a fetching creature such as that?" - We've all been wondering about the same thing, haven't we? So this is my take on it.Finally finished.





	1. A Rogue Wave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [infrarad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/infrarad/gifts).



> Babblerama: Don't blame me. Blame Rad. It's all her fault, she's a horrible enabler. But an awesome beta...
> 
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> **Squicks and triggers:**
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> I try to tag for any common triggers, but if you've got an uncommon one, please feel free to request a tag. If you want to know if a squick or trigger you have is in any of my fics, just leave a comment and I will tell you. I don't believe in the importance of spoilers and will put the safety of my readers above my ego as an author any day of the week.
> 
> This fic contains: fear of rape (but nothing actually happens), a moment of suicidal ideation (both in chapter 5), and traumatic childbirth in the epilogue (nothing graphic or detailed).

The  _Golden Goose_ made good time across the Atlantic - at least that was what Captain MacAllister had told Margaret Smyth. Her two charges couldn't care less; even after weeks with nothing but the endless ocean in every direction, sailing hadn't lost its charm for them.

They were the daughters of the newly appointed Governor of Jamaica, travelling to join him at his new residence. Amalia was the oldest; fourteen years of age and well on her way to becoming a proper lady. Kitty was only eight, and she still had a bit of a wild streak and no patience for reciting French vocabulary or learning the lute.

The weather was fair and warm, so Margaret had decided to hold the evening lessons on deck of the merchant ship careful to keep out of the way of the hardworking crew. She conversed with Amalia in French while Kitty butchered Greensleeves on the lute with a mulish expression on her face.

"Sail ho!"

The shout from the crow's nest made everyone stop in their tracks.

"Another ship!" Kitty exclaimed, the lute forgotten.

The Captain frowned. "What colours does she fly?"

"Can't rightly say, it's too dark. But coming closer!" the boy in the crow's nest replied.

The girls were starting to argue; Kitty wanted to see some real pirates while Amalia hoped for a trader carrying exotic animals. Margaret hushed them. Another merchant ship would ignore them and not change course; that was if it wasn't in some kind of distress. A Navy ship might want to do an inspection; but pirates....

"She has black sails!"

The Captain spat out a curse very much not fit for the ears of young girls and made for the wheel. "Turn her into the wind! Drop every canvas she has—outrunning them is the only chance we've got! And pray the rumours aren't true." He looked over to where Margaret was sitting in some coiled ropes with the girls. "Better go below, Miss. If we're lucky, they don't see you."

Margaret nodded and herded the girls below deck.

"Real pirates!" Kitty crowed. "What an adventure!"

"Pray that it isn't our last, silly goose. They might sink the ship and leave us to drown. If they don't outright butcher everyone!" Amalia retorted. 

"That is not a nice thing to call your sister," Margaret scolded her, even though she quite shared the sentiment. "Get on your bunk and hold on to something. And don't make a single sound until the captain gives the all clear."

Time stretched to an eternity, as they waited silently listening for any noise that might tell them what was happening on deck.

Then suddenly the boom of a cannon ripped through the quiet and the girls both screamed.

"Quiet! Quiet! If they board the ship, they must not find us!" Margaret hissed, running to her trunk and digging around for her pistol. It had been why she had been hired at all; Governor Hargrove had liked the idea of her being able and willing to defend his daughters.

Sounds of struggle on deck carried through the creaking wood down to the cabin, muffled and distorted, until they suddenly stopped.

"Are they gone?" Amalia whispered into the sudden silence.

Margaret aimed the pistol at the door. She had only one shot and needed to make it count. "I rather doubt it. Quiet now," she murmured back.

It didn't take long and the latch on the door was broken open, and two pirates made to enter.

"Stay where you are or I'll shoot!" Margaret shouted at them, causing them to stop in their tracks.

The shorter one grinned, showing a mouthful of rotting teeth. "You can only shoot one of us, Poppet."

"Indeed. But one of you will get it. And it might be you," Margaret replied.

The pirates looked at each other.

"I'm not going in," the taller one with an eyepatch said. "She looks like she means it!"

"She's a woman, you idiot, women don't shoot people," the short one argued back.

"Oh really? Tell that to King Turner! She's a woman and she shot people! You saw her do it yourself!"

The short pirate rolled his eyes and growled. "Go get the captain! Let him sort it out."

The lanky pirate suddenly smiled. "Aye! That he will!" he said and left while the short one stayed.

"You shoulda come quietly, Poppet. Now the Captain will be angry with you. He's mean when he's angry," he said, which caused the girls to whimper on their bunk.

Heavy steps on the wooden stairs heralded the arrival of said Captain. The short pirate made way for him and Margaret aimed her pistol at his heart, daring him to enter the cabin. 

He didn't. Instead, he leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms across his chest and smiled. 

It was not a friendly smile.

"Now let's play this through, shall we, Missy?" he said, his voice gravelly and mocking. "Ye shoot one of me crew, then someone else shoots ye, and we'll take the girls anyway. No difference in outcome, only  _you_ will be dead."

In the dim light his face was barely visible shadowed by a wide-brimmed hat as it was. Margaret could only see the glint of his eyes and teeth as well as a wispy beard. He was dressed like a noble, albeit a noble about four decades out of fashion.

Margaret didn't say anything, so he carried on, "Now if ye decide to come quietly and without a fuss, ye be alive and free to watch over them while ye're our guests. We'll send a ransom note to the good Governor of Jamaica, and soon enough ye can bring them home, and we'll be several thousand guineas richer. Everyone's happy. How's that sound?"

Margaret narrowed her eyes at him. "You knew we'd be on this ship. You targeted us specifically."

"Aye, that we did. Though we'll make good use of the fine cloth we found in the hold as well," came the smug reply from the Captain. Then he held out a hand. "Now, the pistol if ye please."

Margaret pressed her lips into a thin line and uncocked her weapon, slowly turning it so he could take it.

The Captain snatched the pistol and grabbed her arm with his other hand, which made Margaret cry out as she felt his nails dig into her skin through the sleeve of her dress. He roughly propelled her out of the cabin. The two girls too shrieked, and when the two pirates went in to get them, they screamed bloody murder.

"Quiet, ye little monkeys, or I'll cut out yer tongues!" the captain roared, and the screams immediately turned to quiet, desperate sniffles.

Margaret was pushed towards the stairs. "Up ye go."

She clenched her jaw and obeyed; it was better to pick one's battles, and that one she could only lose. For now she needed to keep Amalia and Kitty safe.

The two pirates carried the sisters over the narrow plank connecting both ships. While a couple of others watched Captain McAllister and the crew of the  _Golden Goose_ who had surrendered and stood close to the forecastle with their hands up. Margaret couldn't really blame them, especially McAllister, who looked pained to see the pirates take her and the girls, mouthing a silent "I'm sorry." 

The pirate captain reached for her again, but Margaret took a step back. "I'll walk, thank you."

"As Milady wishes," the captain replied with a mocking bow.

It was harder than it looked; Margaret glanced below and immediately regretted it. The frothing waves were a long way down, and the hulls of the ships bumped against each other now and again, and everything moved.

She was so lost in thought that she didn't notice the captain stepping closer until his breath tickled her ear. "Changed yer mind, Missy?"

Margaret quickly stepped forward on the plank, choking out a "No," in reply. She made it across safely and hurried to Kitty and Amalia who were both still crying.

Worried about the crew of the Golden Goose, Margaret watched the proceedings on the other ship. The pirates made no move to do anyone any harm, and their captain handed something over to McAllister, who nodded emphatically. It looked like a sealed letter - the ransom note most likely. The pirates had indeed come prepared with a solid plan.

The rest of the pirate crew came aboard after their business on the _Golden Goose_ was done and the Captain started shouting orders. Margaret guided the girls into the nook made by the stairs leading up to the stern deck and tried to console them. "We will get through this. Now. Dry your tears and don't let them see your fear. It's alright to feel afraid, but they must not know."

Amalia looked up to her. "Like wild animals, you mean? Father said that they smell your fear and attack, but if you are brave, they won't."

"Just so, Amalia, just so. And now I want you on your best behaviour, let's show them what proper ladies are made of," Margaret added. This was more for the girls' safety than anything else; the pirate captain seemed to have a bit of a short fuse and it would not do for him to decide they were more trouble than they were worth. She was especially concerned about Kitty; once she got over her fear there would be no reining her in.

Said eight-year-old was gazing up into the rigging, looking up at the black sails. "I think I know which ship we're on."

The captain, having set the ship on its journey, approached just then and must have heard what Kitty said. "Indeed, Miss. So tell me, which ship do ye believe she be?"

Kitty, intimidated by his attention on her, hid a bit behind Margaret's skirts. "She has black sails, and she caught our ship in no time. This must be the  _Black Pearl_. The sailors talked about her, said that she was the fastest ship in the Caribbean and that she was captained by a man so evil, hell spat him back out," she said quietly nonetheless.

The Captain threw back his head and laughed. "So she is, and that I probably am. Welcome to the  _Black Pearl_ , ladies. Captain Barbossa, at your service."

Margaret couldn't quite tell if he was trying for proper manners or if he was mocking them; probably a bit of both. Nonetheless she gently nudged Amalia who curtsied and introduced herself, "I'm Miss Hargrove. Pleased to meet you, Captain. This is my sister, Miss Catherine, and our governess, Miss Smyth. That's Smyth with a Y."

"Well thankee kindly for informing me, Miss Hargrove," Captain Barbossa replied, then shouted over his shoulder for one of the crew, and the lanky pirate they had already encountered hurried towards them. 

Barbossa turned back to speak to Margaret. "Ragetti will show ye to yer berth, and ye'll be dining with me after."

Margaret only gave a sharp nod. "Thank you, Captain." Then she wrapped an arm around each girl and guided them to follow the other pirate, Ragetti, below deck.

He led them to a small, windowless room very much like the one they had stayed in on the Golden Goose. Their trunks were already there, Margaret was relieved Barbossa allowed them to stay together and keep their belongings - at least for now.

Even the lute had made its way to their new lodgings.

Ragetti cleared his throat. "Be careful with open lights; this cabin is right next to the powder room. I'll get you when it's time for dinner."

"Thank you, Mister Ragetti," Margaret replied, and the pirate saw himself out.

"The powder room!" Kitty exclaimed when the door was shut, "We can blow up the ship and escape!"

Amalia rolled her eyes. "Sure we can. And then we'll walk across the ocean to Port Royal."

"Oh," Kitty said and sat on the bunk, letting her feet dangle. "Then what do we do?"

Margaret sat down next to her, gently smoothing the child's hair back under her bonnet. "There isn't a whole lot we can do, Kitty. We'll just have to wait and hope your father will come for you soon."

"He will," Amalia muttered darkly, "And he will bring down the fury of the whole Royal Navy on those dirty pirates."

"Well, there's that. But don't forget that those dirty pirates hold all of our lives in their hands right now," Margaret admonished her. "Now come; we'll have to make ourselves presentable."

All pins were set in all dresses, and since Margaret had decided to treat dinner with the pirate captain as a formal event, she styled the girls' hair into fashionable little updos using braids and ribbons in lieu of curling irons. Only she herself retained the white bonnet since she was on duty.

Ragetti came back soon after and escorted them to the Captain's cabin where a large table was set for four. Kitty was excited; she rarely got to share a meal with the grown-ups, confined to the nursery as she usually was.

A chitter made them look up, and Amalia gave a cry of delight as a tiny monkey in pirate clothes jumped on the Captain's shoulder.

Barbossa, who took notice of the girl's interest, stepped closer and held out his arm so she could see better. "This is Jack. He be part of me crew."

Amalia carefully reached out and the monkey let her pet his tiny head. "He's wonderful!"

Margaret couldn't suppress a smile. If there was a way into Amalia's heart, it was animals. She adored all of God's creatures, great and small. Jack decided that he liked the girl and jumped on her shoulder, which put a broad grin on the girl's face.

Kitty had wandered off to marvel at all the strange things decorating the cabin's walls and shelves.

Margaret had a watchful eye on the proceedings; she was glad Barbossa decided to play nice - for now - but he had proven himself mercurial and unpredictable, so she couldn't let herself relax.

He pulled out chairs for each of them in turn, the very picture of an affable host. When he finally had settled at the head of the table, he gestured towards the delicious looking food on the table. "Please, enjoy the meal."

Amalia frowned. "Aren't we going to say grace?"

Barbossa seemed to be caught off-guard but recovered quickly. "By all means, Miss, if ye'd do the honours."

Margaret shot Amalia a suspicious glance. The girl was well-mannered and of a quiet, contemplative nature, but she had a quick wit that could be on the acerbic side. She generally didn't assert herself like this. 

The older Hargrove sister very neatly and prettily folded her hands, and both Margaret and Kitty did likewise. "Dear Lord in Heaven, thank you for this meal. And thank you for keeping us alive and well even though we were captured by pirates."

Margaret was about to admonish her, but Barbossa was quicker. "Well said, Miss. Good food and bein' alive truly are things t’be grateful for," he said, thankfully more amused than offended, and he started to fill his plate.

Settling for a warning glance at Amalia, who looked the very picture of innocence, Margaret served the girls and then herself. "We do appreciate your hospitality, Captain."

For some reason that made him laugh. "Well, ye seem to be appreciatin' it a great deal more than the last lady I dined with."

"Indeed?" Margaret replied.

Barbossa reached for a piece of bread. "Indeed. She stuck a dinner knife in me chest, I do hope ye'll not be doing that."

"A dinner knife?" Kitty exclaimed, looking half delighted, half horrified.

"Aye, Miss," Barbossa replied, leaning towards her with a conspiratory grin on his face. "Let me tell you about Elizabeth Turner, King of the Brethren Court, a governor's daughter who became a pirate..."

And so he did, telling a most extraordinary tale of pirates, curses and an indomitable young woman he obviously had a great deal of respect for. Margaret had to admit he did so exceedingly well, his face animated, thoroughly enjoying himself. But then again, she had yet to meet a seaman not capable of spinning yarn, as it were.

The girls hung on his lips, Kitty especially, asking him to elaborate on this and that. Amalia snuck Jack, who was still sitting on her shoulder, tidbits from her plate. If this was the fearsome Captain Barbossa at his most affable, Margaret decided to try and keep him that way and not to provoke any darker impulses.


	2. A Yard of Yarn

Margaret saw no reason to disrupt the lesson schedule; a bit of normality would do the girls good. They were sitting on deck and Kitty read from a book,  _A Description of Three Hundred Animals_. It was exactly that, but mixed in between common animals like cat and cow were various fantastic creatures, like the manticore.

A few pirates who weren't needed in the rigging at the moment had settled down nearby, listening to Kitty read.

She finished the entry about baboons and handed the book to her sister. "Here, it's your book anyway. Can I go play?" she asked, turning to Margaret.

The governess just shrugged. "You've read three entries, I think that suffices for now. Yes, you may; but please stay in my line of sight and don't bother the crew."

Kitty hurried to get her favourite toy: the Chinese yo-yo her father had brought back from one of his journeys to the Orient.

With Kitty playing and Amalia reading, Margaret decided to take a few minutes for herself. Apart from looking ghostly and soot-covered, the _Pearl_ ran like any other ship; and the crew seemed like normal men, not the monsters she heard about. It was all a matter of perspective; she might think very differently if she wasn't protected by her status as a hostage.

Margaret turned towards the sea and stared at the horizon. How long would the fair weather hold?

"They are mighty clever," a voice interrupted her thoughts.

She turned towards the man who had spoken, recognising Ragetti.

"The Misses Hargrove? Yes, they are," Margaret replied and added with a rueful smile, "Sometimes more clever than I should like."

"They are lucky," Ragetti said, and Margaret could hear something wistful in his voice. For the first time she took the time to really look at him. Long and lanky with a starved look about him, his face was turned to Amalia who had settled in a rope coil to read quietly. "See, I never learned how to read. Me mam couldn't afford to send me to school, and then I was press-ganged into the Navy along with me uncle. No need fer letters swabbing deck, Miss. But I think I would have liked to."

"Why?" Margaret asked.

"When we was caught after we was turned mortal again after the curse of the Aztec gold was broken - oh, you don't know that one yet, do you? Bein' cursed was 'orrible." Ragetti visible shuddered.

Amalia nodded encouragingly. "The captain told the story yesterday evening, but I'd very much like to hear your version of it."

"Alright then. Me’n Pintel have been with Barbossa since before he took the _Pearl_. Back when he still sailed the  _Cobra_. Even saved his life once, we did," he said with a proud smile. "But another Pirate Lord sank the ship and so we were half a crew, a captain, but no ship. Then along came Jack Sparrow."

"That Jack Sparrow? I heard of him, back when..." Margaret stopped herself. No need to dredge up that particular bit of her past. "Nevermind. But I heard of him."

Ragetti shot her a lopsided grin. "But don't tell the captain that you knew Sparrow's name but not his. He'd be mighty sore. Wait, I was tellin' you about the curse. See, Barbossa is a good captain. You always know where you stand with him, and he always keeps his word. 's just that some folks are careless with the words they say. There's what you hear and what you think you hear, right?"

"Right," Margaret said slowly.

"Never knew him to steer us wrong, damn good navigator, always knows exactly where he is. But Sparrow? He's erratic like. Follows the winds where they blow him, and that darn compass. But we were without a ship, an’ Sparrow knew where to find a huge chest of Aztec gold, so we went along with it. But the way Sparrow ran the _Pearl_ irked Barbossa something fierce. No organisation, no discipline," Ragetti frowned.

Margaret was surprised. "I never thought I'd hear a pirate espousing the virtues of discipline."

"Just because we're pirates don't mean we're stupid," Ragetti replied, somewhat offended. "Just because each of us gets a say in what happens on this ship and where she goes doesn't mean that we don't know our place. A crew needs to work well together, and the strength of a ship to withstand any storm ain't in her sails or timber. It's in her crew bein' part of a whole. And Barbossa understands that. He can have a terrible temper and calls us horrid names, but he always listens. Sparrow listens to no one, only does what he thinks is good."

Margaret felt like her eyes had just opened again and she was seeing Ragetti much clearer. There were things going on in that head of his, things she never would have expected from an uneducated, illiterate criminal.

It made her wonder what he might have accomplished, born to the right parents in the right social sphere.

Ragetti, oblivious to Margaret's sudden shift of perception, continued his tale. "So there we was, sailing towards an island that can't be found except by someone that already knows where it is. And somehow Barbossa gets Sparrow to divulge the location. So dissatisfied with how Sparrow treated us we marooned him on an island and Barbossa took over. We found the gold and we was rich. But then came the curse."

"I'm not quite sure I believe in curses, Mister Ragetti," Margaret said, hoping not to offend him.

She needn't have worried, because Ragetti nodded. "Aye, that's what we thought too. It really is the kind of thing you have to see for yourself to believe it, so I can't say I blame you if you don't. But we started to feel hungry even though we'd just eaten, thirsty even though we were swallowing rum and wine by the pint. And no matter how pretty the girl, we couldn't. Er. You know. But we felt the desire. And then the first full moon shone on us and," Ragetti shuddered. "There's no feeling quite like looking at your arm and seeing bones. We were the living dead, forever hungering, starving, thirsting, but never dying."

"Some of us got real angry at him for getting us into this mess, but really, he couldn't have known any better than any of us. But he vowed to get us out again. So we started hunting down those coins one by one. Took them back and brought then to the Isla de Muerte and put them back in the chest. The only hiccup was that we'd sunk Bootstrap before we realised we needed him, but even that solved itself by Will Turner coming after Miss Swann. Who is now Missus Turner. Did the captain tell you how he married them in the middle of a battle?"

Margaret shook her head with a grin. "No he hasn't yet. We only got to the point when they snuck into the bathhouse in Singapore. The girls were quite tired."

"Ah, then I'll not spoil the rest of the story for you. Captain would have my head, and nowadays that's sort of final," Ragetti said with a grin. "But anyway, when the curse was finally broken, we were in the middle of a battle with the Navy. So thems who didn't die was captured to be hung in Port Royal. As we was waiting for the noose sometimes some old ladies would come to visit us, readin' from the Good Book so we'd see the error of our ways and repent. Lots of interesting things in it about forgiveness and heaven and such." He took a deep breath and looked at Margaret with a serious expression on his long face. "But where is that forgiveness on a Navy ship where they feed you slop and whip you until your back is in shreds if you look at one of them officers wrong? Where is the justice in that? Where is the justice for people like our old Bo'sun who was snatched from his village in Africa to be sold like cattle? They be saying a lot of all this forgiveness stuff. I'd really like to believe it. But there's the words in the Good Book, and then there's what people tell you it says. I've got the feelin' that sometimes those don't match up."

Margaret nodded. She knew a thing or two about the cruelty of the privileged too. "And that is why you wish you could read. So you can learn things for yourself and maybe reach a better understanding of the world around you."

"Aye, that's it. I want to learn things myself," Ragetti said. "But I can't read."

Margaret bit her lip. Teaching Ragetti how to read might get them both in trouble with the captain - but then again it might not. Ragetti seemed very loyal to him, so Barbossa might even find him more useful… if he wasn't driven around the bend by Ragetti's particular brand of intellectualism first if it was allowed to actually develop and flourish. The practical minded captain having to deal with Ragetti's thoughts on metaphysics pleased a long-forgotten impish part of Margaret's soul to no end. And… it certainly wouldn't hurt to have allies on the ship. 

She came to a decision. 

"It's always been my firm belief that education should be granted to any person who seeks it. I can teach you, Mister Ragetti, if you would like."

Ragetti looked at her with doubt in his one eye. "You would?"

"Yes. If you promise to behave yourself you may join the lessons. I don't think the girls will mind," Margaret replied.

Ragetti grabbed her hand and shook it with a bit more enthusiasm than strictly necessary. "Thank you, Miss. I'll be a model student!" Then he hurried off, probably to tell his uncle about his plans.

Margaret turned her attention back on her charges and was surprised to see that the dwarf was showing Kitty tricks on her Chinese yo-yo. Kitty seemed to feel her gaze and turned to wave at her. "Look, Marty is teaching me tricks!"

Waving back, Margaret shouted, "That's wonderful, Miss Kitty, be sure to thank Mister Marty!"

Amalia on her coil of rope was joined by four pirates of which Margaret recognised Pintel and Ragetti. They were having soup for lunch and had gotten Amalia a bowl as well. From the looks of it they told her of their adventures. Marty and Kitty trundled over too and were given their own bowls, the girl wide-eyed and immediately entranced by the tale the pirates were weaving, even though there was a lot of bickering.

"Will ye do me the pleasure of joining me for the meal, Miss Smyth?"

Margaret started at the sound of Barbossa's voice. She had been so lost in thought that she hadn't noticed his approach. "Oh! Yes, of course. Thank you, Captain."

Barbossa handed her a bowl and took the spoon in his own, leaning comfortably against the railing next to her. "I'm surprised you let them talk to me crew," he remarked, obviously meaning the two highborn girls in her care.

Margaret shrugged. "I don't see the harm." Pirates laughing and playing with a child were less likely to hurt it; but that she didn't say.

"Oh surely there be no harm in it. But most people in your position would keep them tied to their apron-strings," Barbossa said with a shrewd look.

Taking a spoonful of soup and blowing on it, Margaret tried to think of something to say. She decided on the truth. "You may see two girls from rich families, but I see them as what they are. People. Real human beings with their own thoughts and dreams." She turned to face the girls sitting with the pirates. "Amalia has the mind of a naturalist. She is forever curious about all of creation and would travel the world to seek out new plants and animals. Kitty loves to run and climb and wants to have grand adventures. I'm surprised nobody's had to fish her out of the rigging yet."

Margaret lowered her bowl, appetite gone, and her voice grew bitter. "But do you know what awaits them? They will be married to men they don't choose, men their father will pick for their favourable connections. Men who won't care about Amalia’s mind or Kitty's wit and courage. They will be locked up in golden cages, bred like prize heifers, and won't even own the clothes on their back. They will have no rights, no protection. They will live entirely on the very whim of the men who will own them."

She took a deep breath and defiantly stared Barbossa in the eye. "So let them play. Let them  _dream_. The world will break them soon enough."

Barbossa looked right back at her, his eyes sharp and startlingly blue in the bright light of the day. "Like it broke _you_."

Margaret sighed and deflated. Then she shot Barbossa a lopsided grin. "Just so," she said mildly and turned back to her soup. No need to let it go to waste, even though she didn't really feel like eating.

Barbossa, thankfully, didn't say anything in reply, and Margaret found herself grateful for his silent companionship.


	3. Lights in the Deep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Babblerama: You done fucked up, Beebs. And now she's pissed.

Amalia and Kitty magnanimously allowed Ragetti to share their slates when they didn't need them, and even helped him learn by teaching him a rhyme about the letters of the alphabet. He was certainly motivated and tried to learn as fast as possible; he figured he only had a little over a week at most until the Hargrove sisters and their governess were ransomed.

Barbossa had stopped for a moment as he was walking by to stare at Ragetti sitting with Margaret and the girls, slate in his lap, but hadn't said anything.

A sudden gust of wind flattened the sails against the mast and made the ship groan.

Ragetti looked up into the rigging. "This might become a nasty one. I better get ready to work. Captain tried to make for Yodel Bay island, but seems like it caught us."

"A nasty what?" Kitty asked, her little face scrunched up in confusion.

"A storm, Miss Kitty. The air has been wrong all day, and look, Captain is taking the wheel. He does that whenever a storm is coming," Ragetti explained, and it was as he had said, Barbossa had relieved Cotton at the helm.

Amalia and Kitty shared a worried look, and Ragetti awkwardly patted Kitty's head. "Don't worry, there's no ship you'd rather be on in a storm than the  _Pearl_ , and you wouldn't want any other sailor at the helm than Barbossa. It will be loud and shaky, but we'll all be fine."

As the wind got stronger and the light faded quickly as clouds covered the sky, Barbossa shouted across the deck, "All hands on deck, batten down, fasten livelines! Wouldn't want to lose too many of ye stinkin' bilge rats!" He fixed Margaret with a stare, and she couldn't believe her eyes when she saw his wide grin. "All passengers below, and take a bucket. Yer lunch might make a second appearance."

The ship heaved violently, and Margaret could feel her stomach do the same. "Aye, Captain," she mumbled, grabbed a bucket and led the girls below. The first gusts of rain hit the ship in the sudden darkness of the thunderclouds, and the last thing Margaret heard as she closed the deck hatch behind her was Barbossa's manic cackle.

She holed up in the little cabin with the girls, not daring to light a candle. The violent movements of the ship threw around everything that wasn't nailed down, so an open flame would be a hazard. The girls clambered onto her bunk and clung to her like baby monkeys as the ship leapt and shook around them. And Barbossa was right about the bucket.

Being so afraid takes its toll, and the girls fell into an exhausted sleep while the crew above fought to free their ship from the grasp of the vengeful sea.

The storm raged for hours. When it had calmed down there was a quiet knock at the door. Margaret extricated herself from the sleeping girls and opened it.

It was Captain Barbossa, in shirtsleeves, looking utterly exhausted. "Pardon me, Miss, but I be needin' yer assistance."

He was holding onto his right arm and Margaret could see the blood seeping through his fingers. She quickly nodded. "Of course. You have supplies?"

"Aye," Barbossa replied and led her to his cabin. The sea was still rough and the wind blustery, but nothing compared to before.

"What happened?" Margaret asked as they crossed the deck.

Barbossa nodded upwards. "We lost a yardarm. I got nicked by some splinters as it came down." They arrived and he motioned for her to open the door.

Inside, she quickly lit as many lamps and candles as she could; daylight was back, but it was still dark and cloudy. Barbossa in the meantime dropped into his customary armchair with a tired sigh and worked the buttons of his waistcoat open with his left hand. It was slow going and Margaret took over as soon as she'd fetched the little box he indicated, his hands were shaking too much after hours of fighting with the wheel.

"Would do this meself and have before, but me hands aren't steady enough," he apologised as she pulled his shirt over his head. "And as much as I was dreamin' about losin' me clothes in yer presence, this ain't quite it."

Margaret couldn't suppress a snort at his quip. "No, surely not." The cut wasn't deep and bled only sluggishly. It was a minor wound and Margaret had fixed her share of those; people usually didn't run to see a doctor for minor injuries like this, but left untreated, it might fester.

Without the large hat and elaborate coat, he looked not nearly as imposing. There wasn't a lot of bulk to him, he was all wiry strength instead, and various scars littering his skin told of a hard, dangerous life. Most noticeable was what looked like a gunshot scar right above his heart. "How did you survive that one?"

"I didn't," Barbossa replied, "Sparrow shot me dead right and proper. That's how I told the story, didn't I? Me lying on a pile of gold with a bullet in me heart. But Tia Dalma had her ways. And her reasons," he muttered more to himself.

What kind of world had she stumbled into? Where people were cursed with living death and were brought back to life? It seemed impossible, but evidence was right in front of her in the form of an ugly, puckered scar in a place that never should have time to heal like that. She pulled out all splinters she could see and Barbossa stoically endured her prodding and poking around in his flesh. Lastly she washed out the wound with the medicinal brandy she found in the box before she wrapped it in clean bandages. "There, all set. The shirt's a lost cause, I'm afraid," she said and stood upright, turning to leave.

Barbossa's hand, quick as a viper, snatched her wrist. She turned and her stomach dropped under his intense gaze, the light of the guttering candles exaggerating the jutting cheekbones and haggard lines of his tired face.

"Thank you, Miss Smyth. T'was a kind thing to do, and ye have no reason to show me kindness," he said quietly.

"Indeed not," Margaret said evenly, even though her heart was racing. "But kindness only given when it's deserved isn't real kindness, is it?"

His generous mouth drew itself into a rueful smile. "S'pose not," he replied and released her hand. "Now off with ye, I need some rest. Tomorrow we'll berth at Yodel Bay and make repairs. It's a small island with not a whole lot on it; but I think you and the lasses might enjoy some terra firma, as it is."

"Yes, we would enjoy that very much. Thank you, Captain." Margaret quickly left the cabin and hurried back to her own.

The girls were stirring, so Margaret quickly lit a candle and told them everything was fine, that the crew had gotten them safely through the storm. Then she proceeded to wrangle them into a lute lesson until dinner with the promise of them getting to play in the sand of an actual beach the next day.

Since the weather was still miserable, dinner was held in the forecastle. The crew was more subdued than usual due to their exhaustion, no doubt. They were joined rather quickly by Pintel, Ragetti, Marty, Murtogg, and Mullroy, who immediately started to fill the girls' heads with fanciful tales. This time they were about Davy Jones and his cursed ship. Amalia, of course, asked a hundred questions about the Kraken, and Ragetti surprised Margaret again with his knowledge of it being a cephalopod.

Afterwards Mullroy took Margaret aside. "Can I ask you for a favour?"

"Depends on the favour, I suppose," Margaret replied cautiously.

Mullroy awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "It would be my turn to take the captain his dinner, but since he's restin' I really don't want to disturb him. He's horribly grouchy if you wake him when he's sleeping. Like a sea bear with a hangover. So I was hoping you'd do it for me? Don't think he'd dare to shout at you."

Margaret laughed quietly and nodded. "Yes, I'll go. Cook will have the tray ready?"

"Aye," Mullroy replied, his face the very picture of relief. "And don't forget his apple!"

"Of course not," Margaret said, rolling her eyes. Barbossa had been very vocal about his desire for apples when he was under the curse when he had told the story at the dinner table.

Tray in hand, she knocked quietly, then entered the captain's cabin. She needn't have worried; he was sitting right where she'd left him, but he was fully dressed again and brooding over a set of charts.

He looked up and his eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Your dinner. Mullroy asked me to bring it, because apparently you shout at him a lot," Margaret said by way of explanation as she put the tray down on the table.

Barbossa rose and ambled towards her, raising an eyebrow. "Is that so?" He grabbed her around the waist and leaned back to look at her. "Are you sure it's not because ye wanted me company?"

Margaret tried to push him back, but it was fruitless; he was too strong for her. So she just crossed her arms in front of her chest and met his saucy grin with the look of stern disappointment that she reserved for the worst troublemaking children. "You will unhand me, Captain. Right now."

Barbossa, however, was unfazed. "I might be willing to reach an accord," he said.

These were dangerous waters, and very old, tightly leashed fears rose in Margaret, though she tried not to let them show. "An accord," she repeated drolly.

"Aye," Barbossa replied. "I want to know yer name. Tell me, and I'll let ye go."

Margaret heaved a big, put upon sigh. "Alright, we have an accord. It's Smyth. With a Y. There, now unhand me."

Barbossa shook his head. "It be yer first name I'm after."

"You should have specified," Margaret said sternly. "Now keep your word."

That provoked a bout of laughter from Barbossa that Margaret didn't entirely understand, but he did release her from his hold and bowed to her. "Well played, Miss Smyth. But I always get what I set me sights on," he said with another roguish grin. "Always."

Margaret had the feeling he wasn't just talking about her name, but she would pretend not to have understood. She measured him with another severe stare. "I will tell you my name once I deem you worthy to use it. Not a moment before. Good evening, Captain."

She turned on her heel and left the cabin, then stood by the railing until she stopped shaking.

Helping her charges get ready for bed, making sure they washed and then brushing out their hair, calmed her somewhat, but she was still too shaken to sleep, so she settled on her bunk with a book.

Shortly after the night watch rang the ship's bell one, there was a quiet knock at the cabin door. Margaret got off the bunk to open the door and was dismayed to find the captain there. 

It must have shown on her face, because he took a step back. "Rouse the girls, if ye please, and come up on deck. There's something they might like to see," he said quietly and left.

Curious what kind of maritime marvel had shown itself that made it worth getting up in the middle of the night, Margaret did as he'd suggested. The girls grumbled a bit, but smelling an adventure, were quick to slip into their dressing gowns and pad up the stairs on bare feet.

They found the Captain at the railing, and he waved for them to join him. "Look into the water."

Margaret did and gasped. She'd never seen anything like this; all around the ship there were ghostly blue lights beneath the waves. "What are those?"

"Jellyfish," Barbossa replied, "During the day ye hardly see them, but come night they be glowin'."

Kitty had climbed halfway up the railing on a cannon to be able to see better, but Barbossa quickly plucked her off. "A rogue wave might tip the _Pearl_ and ye'd be chucked overboard. And as pretty as these creatures be, they sting something fierce."

"They do?" Kitty asked doubtfully.

Barbossa nodded gravely. "Aye. Did you ever fall into a bunch of nettles?"

"I did once," Kitty admitted chagrined. "I tried to climb a pear tree but I fell off and there were tall nettles underneath. It was bad."

"Falling into jellyfish is just like falling into nettles. Only ten times worse. You feel like you're on fire, and the scars never go away." He chuckled as Kitty's eyes doubled in size and she grabbed his coat for safety.

Amalia was utterly entranced by the glowing jellyfish and didn't seem to notice anything going on around her, she just stared, open-mouthed, until the last of them had passed by.

"Now, back t’ bed with ye," the Captain growled playfully, and the girls shot off, slightly spooked by his sudden change in mood.

Margaret made to follow them, but Barbossa held her back. "A word, Miss Smyth."

She turned reluctantly; after earlier she wasn't exactly keen on being alone with him.

"I owe ye an apology, Miss. Ye was kind enough t’ take care of me scratch and bring me dinner, and I repaid that kindness by behavin' like a…." He searched for a word.

"Pirate?" Margaret supplied with a sweet smile.

Barbossa stood there for a moment with his mouth open. "Aye," he finally said, chagrined. "So please do accept me most humble apologies for me behaviour."

To say that Margaret was surprised would be an understatement. Of all the things she had expected to happen - an apology wasn't it. Why would he even bother? Realistically speaking, he could just take whatever he wanted - the girls were the valuable ones, not her. The presence of the Hargrove sisters protected her more than her presence protected them. Margaret was under no illusions about what her fate would be like with the girls removed from the equation. But there wasn't a whole lot she could do about it, so she just nodded. "Very well, apology accepted. Good night, Captain," she said evenly and followed the girls to their cabin.


	4. Sandcastles

Stepping on land after almost two months at sea was strange, to say the least. Yodle Bay Island was small and uninhabited, but not without wonders for someone like Margaret who had never set foot outside of England so far. She'd seen small specimens of palm trees in some of the conservatories attached to the great houses she worked in, but to see them in their natural surroundings and fully grown was something else entirely.

Everything seemed brighter, somehow, the colours more saturated in the equatorial sun.

The  _Pearl_  always carried seasoned timber for repairs, so replacing the lost yardarm wouldn't be much of a problem. All that needed was work and time, and according to Barbossa they had both in plenty. So while some of the crew with the right proficiencies stayed behind, the others had eagerly made for the beach.

Barbossa quickly organised a boar hunting party and one to haul fresh water to the _Pearl_ , leaving Margaret and the girls at the beach with Murtogg and Mullroy. 

Margaret had withdrawn to the edge of the lush vegetation for some shade, with Amalia nearby doing some sewing she was awfully secretive about. Kitty played in the sun, and Mullroy had given her his hat to wear to protect her against it; Margaret was grateful that he had, the thin muslin daycaps the girls wore did only so much. Right now Kitty was chasing the rotund fellow down the beach with a piece of driftwood brandished like a sword. When she had tired of that, she started building sandcastles with Mullroy's help, decorating the walls and towers she built with colourful little seashells and bits and pieces she found.

Margaret lazily plucked out random tunes on her lute as she watched both children.

Soon enough the hunting party came back and brought three hogs, enough to feed everyone. Dry driftwood that was abundant on the beach was stacked to make a bonfire, with Kitty enthusiastically helping while Amalia collected plant samples to press between the pages of her diary.

The hogs were prepared for roasting, stuffed with things the brown-skinned Cook had harvested in the forest, Margaret couldn't even begin to name them.

She had yet to get used to how quickly the sun set in these latitudes; one minute the sun was shining, and the next it was pitch dark. Everyone gathered around the fire and when Kitty asked for a story, that's what she got; the rest of the adventure to rescue Jack Sparrow from the Locker, and how the Brethren Court convened and made Elizabeth Swann their King.

The fire was something new and exciting for the Hargrove sisters, they only knew it tamed and contained in their home; not this close and big, and not in the company of laughing pirates.

Cook served portions of the roasted hogs on fresh leaves from the jungle, and Margaret relished in the smell of tender meat and unknown spices. It didn't take long and the crew started singing catchy but grisly shanties; Margaret soon strummed along on her lute, and as a bottle of sweet, dark rum made the rounds, she didn't see the harm in having a sip or two, which the crew approved of. 

The girls listened, wide-eyed and fascinated as most children are by macabre tales, until Kitty suddenly shrieked in terror and to Margaret's surprise clung to Barbossa instead of her.

She looked into the direction Kitty pointed, and, in the pale light of the moon, there was what must have been Monkey-Jack, but he looked... dead. His smart little clothes were in tatters, and his bones were visible through rotting fur and flesh. He gave a confused screech which made Kitty whimper and hide her face in Barbossa's chest.

The Captain seemed just as confused as the monkey, but then his face softened in a way Margaret hadn't seen before and he comforted the frightened girl. "There there, Miss. That just be Jack. I told ye the tale of the curse, aye? Well, me silly boy nicked a coin and now he's still cursed like we were, and the moonlight reveals what he be."

Kitty looked up at him. "You mean it's all true? I thought it was just a story."

The monkey cautiously approached Amalia, who was his favourite after the first night on the ship. The older girl reached out to pet the undead creature, and the monkey proved himself just as docile as he was during the day with the effects of the curse hidden.

Kitty still wasn't satisfied. "You mean, you looked like that?"

"Aye," Barbossa replied with a grin, "Spooked Miss Swann somethin' awful."

Margaret felt her world shift again. She'd seen the scar on the Captain's chest, but this… another piece of irrefutable evidence. Everyone knew curses weren't real. Margaret started to worry about what else "everyone" might be wrong about.

Kitty on the other hand was utterly enthralled with the idea of a ghostly, ghastly undead Barbossa and fired off questions faster than he could answer them. Thankfully the Captain only seemed amused by her curiosity, and the other pirates went back to drinking and spinning yarn.

It was such a strange thing to experience. A bonfire at a lonely beach, with pirates singing and telling ribald jokes. The scourges of the Caribbean just being… people. Cook smiling at something Murtogg said to him, Pintel and Ragetti involved in one of their usual absurd discussions, Mister Cotton passed out in the sand, his parrot nibbling on pieces of fruit Mullroy fed him. And their fearsome captain treating a little girl of eight with the same gentleness as his beloved pet, indulging all of her questions.

It didn't take long for the girls to run out of steam and Kitty was soon fast asleep and Amalia close to nodding off. 

Barbossa noticed, and turned to Margaret. "They should be in bed. Come, I'll row ye." He carefully picked up Kitty and walked towards the longboats. Margaret followed with a very sleepy Amalia in tow.

The next bit was difficult; they'd have to climb the rope ladder back on board. The Captain went first after securing the boat, swiftly making his way up even though he carried Kitty. Margaret prodded Amalia up and went last, her skirts making it hard to find the rungs. Barbossa helped them over the railing when they had finally made it up.

Margaret didn't bother undressing the girls, just tucked them in next to each other on the bunk they shared. When she turned around, she was surprised to see a wistful expression on Barbossa's face.

"I've always thought that some day I'd like one of me own," he said quietly as they made their way back on deck.

"A child?" Margaret asked.

Barbossa offered her his arm. "A daughter," he elaborated, "Ye'd think I'd want me a strapping lad te fill me boots after I'm gone. But I always wanted a little lass to spoil. As smart as Miss Amalia, and as lively and darin' as Miss Kitty."

"Perhaps one day you will," Margaret replied as they stopped at the railing, looking towards the beach. The fire was still going, and they could hear snippets of conversations and laughter the wind carried their way.

Barbossa lowered his head with a rueful chuckle. "That would require a very particular sort of woman t’ be their mother. And where do ye think an old reprobate like me would find hi'sself one o'those?"

"Yes, your usual way of acquiring things would not work all that well," Margaret joked.

Barbossa made a show out of looking pensive. "But maybe she'll be swept off her feet by me debonair good looks and roguish charm?"

Margaret tried not to snort. She really did. "And let's not forget your impeccable manners and sense of style," she snarked, then saw his face fall a little and immediately felt bad. "I'm sorry, that was not a kind thing to say."

"It be true nonetheless. I'll never be a proper gentleman with perfect manners. I be lackin' the  _breedin'_ ," Barbossa replied bitterly.

"I don't know where you came from, but you obviously found yourself dissatisfied with your circumstances and made yourself into who you want to be. Not a whole lot of people have the courage to do that. To break the mold," Margaret said quietly, facing the beach. "You learned. You know a lot of things, otherwise you wouldn't be able to captain a ship and lead a crew. It doesn't matter that these things aren't part of a set curriculum. Most people think being educated means being able to parrot what they find in books. But it's  _not_."

"Why, Miss Smyth, yer makin' me blush," Barbossa drawled. "Ye might want te be careful, else I might start thinkin' ye fancy me," he continued to tease her.

Margaret groaned and rubbed her hands over her face; maybe the rum had been a bad idea after all. "Forget I said anything. You're a horrible old scoundrel and I don't like you one bit."

That just made him laugh. "I'm sure ye don't," and it was obvious by his tone that he didn't believe it, which made Margaret shoot him a sour look. That just made him laugh  _more_. When he was finally done, he held out his leather-wrapped left for Margaret to take. "Come, let us look at the stars for a bit. They're beautiful tonight. When the repairs be done we'll make for Devil's Anvil to meet with the good Governor."

In a few days all of this would be over and she'd be back in her old life. She'd be safely ensconced in the Governor's home, and never see any of the pirates again; nor the complicated man that was their captain. Kitty and Amalia (most likely more Kitty than Amalia) would be the darlings of society and regale everyone with wild tales of their adventures.

In a few days everything would be as it was. So she might as well do some stargazing tonight with the fearsome Captain Barbossa, she thought, and took his hand, following him back to the helm, listening to his quiet explanations of how to find constellations and how to navigate by them.

And he was right: they were beautiful.


	5. The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Babblerama: Content warning for a short bit of suicidal ideation and discussion of non-con. But no actual non-con happens. Nothing happens. Barbossa ain't that much of a cad, at least not any more. I think by the end of AWE he's mellowed some, and he _does_ fancy himself a gentleman.

When it appeared on the horizon, Margaret understood why the island was called Devil's Anvil. It was small, but had a sizeable plateau in the middle, the shape of it very much like the tool it was named after. There was no other ship in sight yet, so Barbossa's plan to arrive first had worked.

When most of the men who had been chosen to go ashore with them got out of the longboats and started to climb the plateau, it was clear why. They would see to it that the ones come to deliver the ransom and to take the girls and her home didn't try anything.

"Now we'll see how much the dear Governor loves his daughters," Barbossa murmured into her ear as he helped her out of the boat. "Yer hands, please."

Margaret was confused and took a step back as Barbossa produced a short length of rope. "What? No!"

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "We need to make ye look like proper hostages. It won't do to have him believe that ye actually enjoyed our hospitality."

"Fine," Margaret muttered and held out her wrists, which he deftly tied. When he was done, he turned her around and led her up the shore by her arm. A glance to the side told her that the others had done the same to Amalia and Kitty; and though the older sister seemed a bit perturbed, Kitty seemed to see this as just another adventure.

They didn't have to wait long as white sails soon appeared on the horizon. The Navy ship anchored some distance away from the  _Pearl_ , and only one longboat was let down into the water. Barbossa watched the proceedings through his spyglass.

"One chest, very heavy by the looks of it, an officer, four men rowing, and the good Governor himself. Excellent. Smart man, following me instructions to the letter," he said, sounding pleased as punch.

Margaret was relieved; if all went well she and the girls should be free in no time at all.

Barbossa collapsed his spyglass and turned to the girls. "I suppose this is goodbye, lasses. I shall remember ye fondly, and I hope ye won't be too cross with me."

Amalia reached into her pocket with a little difficulty due to her bound hands and produced what she had been working on the past days. She handed the little bundle of fabric to Barbossa. "For Jack," she said with a shy smile.

He took the fabric and unfolded it; she'd taken cloth scraps and had sown a little frock-coat. She had even embroidered Barbossa's personal Black Flag on the back, the skull with two crossed sabers beneath. He smiled, the first truly fond smile Margaret had ever seen on his face. "Well, thankee kindly, Miss Hargrove. I'm sure Jack will like it very much."

Kitty looked at him doubtfully. "Would you really have cut out our tongues?" she asked.

Barbossa tweaked her nose and mock-growled, "Without hesitation!" which made the girl giggle.

He turned to Margaret, but whatever he was going to say was cut short by the arrival of the longboat.

"Father!" Kitty shouted, and made to run towards him, but Barbossa grabbed her and pulled her back.

"Let's see the goods first, if ye please, Governor," he called out.

The Governor nodded at the two men who visibly struggled to carry the chest. They set it down in the sand and opened it; hundreds of gold coins glittered in the sun.

"Ten thousand guineas for my two daughters, as promised," the Governor intoned sourly. "Don't think I didn't notice that the sum matches the price the Navy put on your head, Barbossa."

"Aye, so maybe ye'd consider lowering it. The prices might be more favourable the next time we do business," Barbossa replied with a smug grin. "Now two of me men will fetch the chest, and at the same time the girls will walk over to ye. Slowly."

The girls. Margaret felt her stomach turn. Surely he meant her too and just forgot? She took a step forward, but Barbossa dragged her back.

The governor noticed. "What's this then? Why not let Miss Smyth go as well?"

Barbossa just chuckled and wrapped an arm around her waist. "The fetching Miss Smyth was never part of the bargain and I find meself reluctant to part with her fer free."

"What?" Margaret shouted, aghast, and started to struggle. "You… you can't do that! Let me go, please!"

Holding on to her tightly, Barbossa snarled in her ear, "I think ye'll find that I can and I will. Now quit yer strugglin' or ye'll find yer future accommodations on me ship less than pleasant."

Margaret desperately looked at Governor Hargrove. "Please, Sir. Something. Anything. Please."

The girls were upset and had to be restrained by the soldiers as they cried out for her.

"If she be so dear to ye, perhaps ye'd like to have her back for an additional five hundred guineas," Barbossa suggested, "Only a tenth of what I asked fer one of yer daughters, practically a steal."

The girls beseeched their father to pay, promising never to ask for pin-money ever again, but Hargrove just shook his head. "I'm sorry, Miss Smyth. I'll forward the ransom demand to your family, that's all I can do."

The sudden pain in her chest made Margaret choke, and her legs went out from under her. Barbossa let her drop, and she bent forwards, hiding her face in her bound hands. She tried to hold in the ugly sobs of desperation, but failed miserably.

The girl's screams grew fainter; the longboat was probably making towards the Navy ship, but Margaret didn't look up to make sure.

She felt herself being dragged upright. "Now, Miss Smyth, it's not as bad as all that. I'm sure we can come to an accord."

"An accord?" she spat and barely recognised her own voice. "My family doesn't have that much money. I have nothing left to bargain with. I'm worthless to you."

He pulled her against his chest and wiped the tears from her cheeks with a tar-stained thumb. "And that's where ye'd be wrong. Now. We'd best be a-goin' before they decide to blast me ship out of the water."

As he led her back to the longboats and helped her inside, Margaret felt an utter numbness settle all over her body like a lead blanket.

An accord.

Well, Barbossa had made plenty obvious what he wanted from her, his words kept repeating themselves in her mind, " _I always get what I set me sights on. Always._ " As the crew heaved the boat up, she briefly considered jumping into the sea; her heavy dress would drag her down in seconds. 

But the truth was, she didn't want to die. She had clawed her way out of hell once before, and she'd do it again. She would grit her teeth, do whatever he wanted until they made port; and then she'd escape. Somehow. If nothing else, the Governor still owed her two months’ worth of pay.

She was led to her cabin where she just sat on her bunk and didn't move until Ragetti came to inform her that she'd be dining with the captain.

"Of course, Mister Ragetti, please give me a moment," she said, and it was as if her voice came from a great distance. She unpinned her white bonnet and neatly packed it away in her trunk; the apron covering the front of her modest blue dress went the same way. She wasn't a governess anymore now, wasn't she? Her long, dark hair was braided and pinned into a bun, which she left where it was. It wouldn't do to keep the Captain waiting.

Her face must have been quite something, because Ragetti looked stricken as he escorted her to the Captain's cabin. She gave him a watery smile in thanks; perhaps she had a friend in him who would be willing to help her.

The crew was celebrating the successful venture, and when Margaret entered the cabin there was another delicious meal spread out on the heavy round table.

Barbossa seemed very pleased with himself as he greeted her and pulled out a chair. Of course he would be. As wonderful as the food looked, she had no appetite and only picked at the portion he had served her.

"No appetite this evenin', Miss Smyth?" he asked while he ate with gusto as he always did, visibly relishing every bite.

Margaret just stared at her plate. "No."

"As ye please," he said lightly and leaned back, cleaning his hands on a napkin. "To business, then."

She raised her eyes and met his stare head-on. "Yes. To business," she said and couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of her voice. She pushed back the chair and rose, untucking the kerchief covering her chest and shoulders as she went. She let it drop on the chair and reached for the pins attaching her dress to the stomacher in the front.

Barbossa had the gall to look stricken.

He rose as well and caught her hands in his. "Miss Smyth. There be no need fer that," he said, visibly uncomfortable.

"I'm not sure I understand," she replied, "This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

Barbossa made several false starts to what he wanted to say, then settled for, "I think ye be misunderstandin' me intent." He shot her a rueful smile. "Not that I wouldn't love anythin' better than t’ take ye to me bunk, but I'd prefer ye wouldn't look at me like I was a puddle of sick ye stepped into while I do it. I never took a woman to me bed as didn't want to be there. Granted," he said with a lopsided grin, "with a face like mine they're usually more concerned with the contents of me purse than of me breeches."

He fished the kerchief from the chair and awkwardly put it back around her shoulders. "But nonetheless, they chose t’ be where they were. Ye very clearly don't want to, so that be the end of that. Please, sit back down. Have a cup of wine t’ settle yer nerves, if ye need it. I had somethin' else in mind."

Margaret could only nod and do as he said, feeling poleaxed, relieved, and horribly embarrassed at the same time. When would she ever be able to predict the motives of this man?

"There be a reason why I told ye the story of the Battle of the Brethren and what led up to it. Times be changing, and pirates are a dying breed. Cutler Beckett said that once, may the sea rot his guts, but he was right, as much as I hate to admit that. Times be changing, and we need t’ change with them." He poured them both a generous measure of wine. "So old Teague and I stuck our heads together and tried to come up with a plan fer all of us. With the Shipwreck Cove's location compromised, we need a new base of operations. And Jack Sparrow of all people found one. Learned a lesson or two he did about not bein' a selfish weasel."

"So now you are trying to do what?" Margaret asked, reaching for her cup.

"We'll go to Sickle Moon Cove. Surrounded by reefs and shallows, only one proper winding path inside. Easily defendable. The crescent shape makes fer a beautiful natural harbour, and it's big enough to support a proper settlement. Not just houses, but farms. A place where the lads can bring their families. We be thinkin' to run it as any pirate ship is run; everyone gets a vote," he answered her question.

Margaret mulled that over. It did sound like a smart, feasible plan. "And my part in all this?"

"Ye'll be teachin'. Ye told Ragetti that ye think anyone as wants to learn should be educated. Here's yer chance to make good on that," he said, the smug grin back on his face. "It would be a mutually beneficial agreement. We get a teacher, and ye? Why, ye get t’ be yer own woman. Ye get what polite society always denied ye, freedom and respect. So what say ye?"

Margaret swallowed hard and set the cup down with a shaking hand. It took a moment for everything he'd said to make sense in her head, but the picture he painted stirred something, something so deep inside she'd forgotten. It was overwhelming, and tears sprang to her eyes. How had this evening turned from the worst of her life to the very best? With a future spread out in front of her as she had never even dared to dream of? She had cried her share in her life, but when had she ever cried in happiness like this?

Barbossa, alarmed at her tears and utterly misinterpreting them had risen to console her, when she jumped from her seat, a manic grin on her face. "What say I? Yes! Yes, you horrible scoundrel. Yes."

Barbossa offered her his hand. "Shall we shake on it, Miss Smyth?" he said, the impish glint back in his eyes.

"I believe we shall," Margaret replied and shook his hand.

Barbossa grabbed their cups from the table and handed her hers. "Here's to uncharted waters and that ye may stop thinking the worst of me, Miss Smyth."

"You make it so easy, though," she replied drolly and clinked her cup with his. "But I'll drink to that. And it's Margaret."


	6. Uncharted Waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Babblerama: 18th century dresses did, indeed, have pockets! They were cloth bags tied around the waist under the skirt, and you could have one or two. To access them, you pushed the overdress aside and reached into openings the skirt and petticoats had at the sides. This might explain why women were pretty popular as spies and mules - their pockets were full of secrets...  
> As for the wearing wool in the tropics thing - apparently you get used to the heat so much you'll think 25°C is cold and one needs a hoodie. According to my brother who lives in Middle America.

Things remained mostly the same, and at the same time they had shifted. Margaret still taught Ragetti his letters when he had the time and he was progressing fast; already sounding out simple words. Since Kitty's and Amalia's belongings were still on board, she had a ready supply of simple things for him to practice his reading skills with.

She missed Kitty and Amalia. They had been such a big part of her life for quite a long time; and even though she ought to be used to this by now, letting children she took care of go was the hardest part of her profession. To just pack up your bags, go to a new place, and take care of another child while still missing the last one.

She'd be lying if she said that the part of Barbossa's proposal that meant settling down in a home of her own wasn't a big draw for her.

As for the man himself - the more she observed of him, the more he confounded her. The crew reacted to his colourful insults as if they were endearments - and maybe they were. He ruled them with an iron fist - but they called him fair. He had terrible, dark moods (she quickly learns to leave him be during those) but he usually treated her with respect.

Their heading was for Tortuga. The ransom money had been shared, and the pirates wanted to have a few days of leisure and debauchery after working long and hard at sea. Margaret didn't judge them (much) - she'd seen the excesses of the rich elites in the houses she'd worked in, and they weren't any better than pirates going on a bender.

She'd just have to sit that one out, she thought. It wasn't as if she didn't have anything to do; Kitty and Amalia's things had to be sorted through for what she wanted to keep and what could maybe be sold in a safer port, even though it pained her to give away anything that belonged to the girls. The Governor was supposed to pay her ten guineas for the two months it took to sail from England to Jamaica, ten guineas she really could use.

Margaret sat on a cannon on deck thinking about that while Barbossa gave out shares of the ransom money to his crew.

After collecting his, Ragetti came over to join her. "I think you should have this," he said, offering her a few gold coins. "For teachin' me."

Margaret was touched by the gesture and shook her head. "I appreciate the sentiment, Mister Ragetti, but it's not necessary. Besides, to accept that much would be cheating you, I earned five guineas in a month of service to the Governor."

Ragetti was unimpressed. "Seems to me like the Governor was cheatin' you, then," he said, still holding out his hand with the five gold coins. "If I decide that's what you should have for teachin' me my letters, why argue?"

"You've got me there, Mister Ragetti," Margaret said with a lopsided grin, finally accepting the money. "Thank you."

She stowed the money away in her pocket. "What is Tortuga like?"

"It's nice," Ragetti said with a grin. "As much rum as you can drink, gamblin' and, ah, ladies of negotiable affection. Lots of merchants too; Tortuga's a free port, so we can barter for goods we need and they don't ask where our cargo comes from. Passable shipwrights too, but Sickle Moon Cove has better."

Margaret hid a grin at his choice of euphemism. "Well, I suppose you'll want to enjoy yourself."

"I'll have a drink, sure," Ragetti replied, scratching the back of his neck with a shy smile. "But I have a girl back in Sickle Moon Cove. Beautiful as the day with a smile like the sun. No idea why she'd have one as me, but I'm happy she does. She's why I could say the words right. You know, when we freed Calypso. I said the words like I would have said them to Enitan."

That's when Pintel appeared at his elbow. "Best get back to work before the Captain skins you alive and uses your sorry hide for a staysail."

They all looked towards the captain, who just pointedly stared back.

"Right," Ragetti said and followed Pintel to his station.

Soon enough Tortuga was in sight and the crew cheered, waving their hats at the painted ladies strolling along the dock. Margaret knew that going unescorted even during daytime would be folly, so she withdrew to her cabin to do her self-assigned task of sorting through the girls' belongings.

She'd probably never see them again. As she came across Kitty's beloved Chinese yo-yo, the pain of losing them overwhelmed her completely, and she clutched the toy against her chest and started sobbing. She loved those girls more than she could say; she had always known that there would come the day she had to let them go, but that didn't make the pain less. Still crying, she packed everything back into the trunk. Maybe someday in the future she would be able to do this, but right now she just couldn't.

Hearing a familiar, slightly uneven gait on the stairs, she quickly dried her eyes. She was more inclined to trust him now after that awful, awkward moment in his cabin, but that didn't mean she'd let Barbossa see her cry. She answered the door when he knocked, wondering what it was that he wanted.

"I've two questions, Margaret," he said, entering the cabin. "Did the good Governor ever pay ye yer wages fer the crossin'?"

She shook her head. "No, he didn't,” she replied. “I suppose he didn't get the chance to since you refused to let me go.” She quirked a smile at him to take the sting out of her words.

"Aye, that be true," Barbossa replied with a grave nod. "And since it be my fault that ye weren't paid, I s'pose it would be right and proper for me te reimburse ye." His tone of voice was very obviously too serious to be genuine, and she could see the laughter in his eyes.

It was amazing how well she was able to read him after only a short while of knowing him. "I suppose it would be," she replied.

Barbossa produced a small bag of coins. "Ragetti informs me that ye were paid five guineas a month, so here be ten since ye were at sea fer two. Would that suffice?"

"It would. Thank you, Captain," Margaret said, accepting the coins. "What is your second question?"

"I was wonderin' if ye were willin' to accompany me on land for a spot of peaceful barterin'. I'm sure there's things ye need." he offered her his arm. "If the lady accepts?"

He had learned to read her too, Margaret realised. He knew that she needed money but would never just accept it; so he had come up with a valid excuse for her to have it. He knew that she didn't like to be touched, especially not without warning, so he had shifted his tactics towards encouraging her to touch him by offering his hand or arm at any given opportunity.

Margaret found she didn't mind.

If anyone had told her two weeks ago that she'd be strolling through the streets of Tortuga on the arm of a Pirate Lord, she would have suggested a stay in Bedlam to that person. But, indeed, here she was.

The cloth merchant, a rather ordinary looking fellow named Collins, was all too happy to buy part of the wool the pirates had taken from the  _Golden Goose_ , and taking a look at Margaret's dress that showed some evidence of her recent adventure, he delicately suggested the shop next door that was run by his wife, who was apparently a first-rate dressmaker.

After a short conversation with her companion, she entered the shop while he finished business with the merchant. Missus Collins, a matronly woman in her fifties, was busy with another customer, so Margaret looked at the dresses on display. Most of them were in bright colours and covered in flamboyant embellishments that would suit her ill, but one or two seemed perfectly serviceable. And then there was a rather elegant  _robe à l'anglaise_ in sky blue silk with delicate golden flowers embroidered onto the fabric. The shade itself was lovely (and a perfect match for a certain pair of eyes she saw a lot of lately), and it would suit her well, even though her own eyes were a mossy green rather than blue.

"You'd look lovely in it, dear," a friendly voice came from behind her. 

Margaret quickly turned around and found the proprietor standing close by. "It's beautiful. But I'm afraid I'm looking for something more practical," she explained with a sheepish smile. "I'm just a teacher." Or at least she was going to be; but it felt good to say so.

Missus Collins nodded and led her to the other side of the shop. "Wool is all right for the rainy season, but you'll need something cotton for when it's hot. Would you like one of these fitted to you, or would you rather have one made? I can do it in about two weeks."

"I'll be leaving in a few days, so a fitted one it is," Margaret replied, considering her choices. "Maybe that one?" she said, pointing towards a soft looking dress in muted green.

The shop door opened behind her and it took only one look into Missus Collins' rapidly paling face and widening eyes to give her a good guess as to who had just entered. He rather had that effect on most people.

"Found somethin' ye fancy?" Barbossa asked, stepping closer and for now ignoring the frightened dressmaker.

Margaret nodded. "I have. Missus Collins does wonderful work."

Said Missus finally found her voice. "If you'll follow me into the back room so I can take your measurements, Miss?" She turned to the pirate. "Please have a seat, Captain. I'll be done in a few moments." That said, she bustled Margaret through a door and closed it behind her. "If you'll disrobe to your stays, please?"

Margaret did as she'd asked, then climbed on a footstool so Missus Collins had an easier time taking her measurements. 

The dressmaker surprised her by taking her hands. "If you're in trouble, I know someone who can help."

"In trouble? Oh! Oh no. Nothing like that," Margaret replied, blushing in absolute mortification. "Really. I'm… fine."

Missus Collins obviously didn't believe her. "I don't know how you met that one, but… he's dangerous. Rumour has it he's a Pirate Lord," she whispered.

"I know. And he is. But truly, it's not. Like that." Oh this was horribly awkward.

"So he hasn't… hurt you?" Missus Collins asked.

Margaret decisively shook her head. "No. And believe me, he had ample opportunity. But he didn't. He… really just needs my services as an educator."

The dressmaker shot her a piercing look. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I do appreciate your concern, and it warms my heart that you'd help me even though you obviously fear him. But in this case it's not necessary. Truly," Margaret replied, giving Missus Collins' hands a squeeze before letting go.

"All right, if you're sure. Should you change your mind ask for Rose, she runs the Rose and Thorn by the harbour. Tell her I sent you, and she'll help. Now, let's take your measurements," Missus Collins said, and did just that.

They reemerged from the back room and Missus Collins opened a ledger to write the order down. "I'll have it done the day after tomorrow, Miss. Will you be paying now or later?"

"Now is fine," Margaret replied and reached into her pocket for the money. "Is there a haberdashery you'd recommend?"

Missus Collins nodded. "Oh yes, there's Mister Wilkins' shop two streets over that way," she pointed. "May I also suggest a milliner? You'll need a sun hat in this climate. Miss Lawrence makes rather fetching ones three houses down from here." She finished her entry in the ledger. "That'll be four guineas. Shall I have it delivered?"

"No need, Missus Collins," Barbossa inserted himself into the conversation, "I'll send someone to pick it up."

Missus Collins was very obviously not enthusiastic about even more pirates in her shop, but smiled and wished them a pleasant day anyway.

Most people gave them a wide berth as they continued on their way, and it was obvious Barbossa found this terribly amusing - it also seemed to have a diminishing effect on any prices they had to pay for anything as they both picked up various bits and bobs. What grated her were the pitying looks a lot of people gave her - but that was to be expected. From her dress alone it was obvious that she wasn't a lady of the evening, and oftentimes those were the only ones willing to associate with known pirates at all - let alone one with Barbossa's reputation.

A mere week ago she would have thought the same; but while still being cautious, Margaret didn't fear Barbossa any more like she once had. Instead, she was starting to enjoy his acerbic wit, boisterous nature, and his surprisingly sharp mind. In another world he would have made an exceptional barrister, or perhaps even a diplomat. He certainly knew how to handle people and sway their opinions into whatever direction suited him.

And while he laughed and grinned a lot, she discovered that he usually hid genuine smiles in one corner of his mouth. And now that she knew where to find them, she very much enjoyed putting them there. Giving him a smile of her own usually did the trick.

They leisurely made their way back to the _Pearl_ , where Margaret rearranged her trunk to fit her new belongings.

The next day Ragetti let her know that the Captain would like to have a word. This confused Margaret a bit, they spent the whole afternoon together the day before, surely there had been time for words then?

She understood as soon as she entered his cabin.

On the table were several items, one of which was her pistol.

Barbossa seemed serious; gone were the big gestures and the roguish grin. "Have a seat, Margaret." He waited until she'd done so and continued, "While I'm glad ye decided t’ throw in yer lot with us, I think ye might not be well-informed of all the possible consequences. While I made sure that the Governor thinks ye be heartbroken t’ be left behind, it might not be enough t’ protect ye."

"To protect me? From what?" Margaret asked with a confused frown.

"The law, Maggie. Ye be a person associating with pirates now, and last I checked, those were still hung," Barbossa said gently. "Yer best bet if caught is t’ claim t'was not willingly, and the Governor would likely speak in yer favour. But ye can't bank on that."

Margaret nodded slowly. It was true, she hadn't considered this yet. "So that was… just for show?"

"Mostly," Barbossa hedged, "I never intended to give ye back from the moment ye aimed that fine pistol at me heart. But I'll not hold ye, if ye truly want to leave."

Margaret was astonished. "You would let me go?"

"Aye," he replied gravely, "Though I very much hope ye decide t’ stay. If ye do, I give ye my word that I'll do me damnedst t’ keep ye safe, and that I'll never knowingly harm ye by deed or by word. And ye know how seriously I take me word."

That much was true, he always followed his word to the letter, and right now he didn't leave himself any loopholes that she could see. "What you offer, a place in a community, the chance to make a home for myself without being beholden to either a husband or a lord - that means more to me than I can say, and if it goes well, I see no reason to leave."

The grin was back on Barbossa's face as he clapped his hands together. "Splendid. Now. Here be yer pistol; I trust ye know how t’ handle it well."

"I'm a decent shot," Margaret replied with a shrug.

"But that may not be enough," Barbossa said, reaching for one of the other objects on the table. "This be somethin' courtesy of Missus Collins."

Margaret took it, surprised. "A bodkin?" It looked very much like one of the wooden implements that you'd stick down the front of your dress to make the stomacher keep its shape. Inspecting it more closely, she found a thin line running across in the upper third and pulled. "Oh!" It revealed a finely made stiletto.

"She wanted ye te have a last line of defence, indubitably against me," he smiled. "But since I don't plan on doin' anythin' t’ make ye use it, I very much approve of her thinkin'. But that won't do a whole lot against an armed opponent. And this is why I'm goin' t’ teach ye how to use  _this_." He pointed towards the last thing on the table, which was a cutlass much like his own.

The weapon of a pirate, Margaret thought and couldn't suppress a grin. "I'll be the most fearsome teacher of the Seven Seas."

Barbossa leaned back in his chair. "Aye, Margaret, that be the plan."


	7. A Safe Haven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Babblerama: Enitan is modelled after an amazing African woman I once met. I only spent half a day in her presence, but her warmth and quiet dignity made a lasting impression on me. She was absolutely beautiful. Her speech patterns are pretty much what I observed in my dad's ex-wife - distinctive, but not really consistent. Sometimes she'd drop a word, sometimes she wouldn't, it entirely depended on her mood and the situation.
> 
> And so here we are now at Sickle Moon Cove - places like this existed, and even though detailed accounts are somewhat scarce, we know two things - they were diverse, and they were very democratically run, just like pirate ships themselves were. And it's a quirky (if somewhat sad) fact that no other settlements in general European history were this accepting of PoC, queer, and disabled folks as pirate communities were.

Fencing lessons with Barbossa were… something. Pintel and Ragetti had informed her that he was one of the best swordsmen in the Caribbean; mostly because he didn't believe in the concept of forbidden moves. Apparently he "fought like a demon and kicked like a mule."

The Captain himself had echoed that sentiment during the first time they'd faced off on deck after they had left Tortuga to sail to Sickle Moon Cove. "Use whatever ye have to. There be no wrong way to fight if it keeps ye alive. The only wrong way is that what gets ye dead." He had corrected her stance and told her to always keep her blade between herself and her opponent, and to keep an eye on her surroundings.

That said, he'd proceeded to hound her across the entire deck, shouting corrections as he went, with the part of the crew that wasn't working at the time cheering for both of them between off-colour puns featuring the words "penetration" and "thrusting" a lot. Margaret shrugged it off; by now she knew that they didn't get a lot in the way of entertainment while at sea.

It still made her blush, especially if Barbossa caught her and had her think herself out of the situation, giving her pointers if she had trouble. But that still meant she spent quite some time in his arms. He never as much as gave her a saucy grin - he was all business - but that didn't mean she wasn't acutely aware of their bodies touching whenever it happened.

It  _thrilled_ her, and that spooked her quite a bit.

"Parry with the back of yer blade, not with the edge, ye'll just put nicks in it," he corrected her yet again. "Aye, that's more like it. Simple enough things, with practice they'll be second nature t’ ye in no time."

He was an exacting taskmaster to be sure, but Margaret appreciated his efforts and did her best. It wasn't his fault she found him thoroughly distracting.

He had her almost cornered yet again, but her foot nudged a bucket - which she kicked between his feet, making him stumble for only a second - but long enough to make her escape.

"Well done, Maggie," he said with a proud smile. "That's what I was talkin' about. Use whatever ye can."

She let the pet name slide with a roll of her eyes.

Dinner in the Captain's cabin had become a regular occurrence. She found they both enjoyed ancient tales of gods and monsters, and she was impressed with the wide variety of books he'd read. He waved it off; dryly remarking that he had ten years with nothing else to do. If you can't eat, drink, or enjoy  _pleasurable company_ , books were the only thing that remained.

"Do you believe it, though?" Margaret asked. "Monsters, gods, magic?"

Barbossa gave a rueful chuckle. "I well passed the realm of believin'. I met a goddess in the flesh-- Calypso was real enough. I was a monster meself, and I returned from the dead. I travelled to the world beyond, came back, and fought Davy Jones' crew with this here blade. Nay, I don't believe. Margaret, I _know_."

It was hard to refute that. Margaret herself wasn't too sure anymore that what she'd been taught to believe was the truth about the nature of the world. She'd seen Monkey-Jack in the moonlight, after all.

Her belief in the Christian God had been shattered years ago.

"How does one deal with such a thorough shift in perspective," she wondered, picking at her portion of roasted fish with her fork.

Barbossa shrugged and reached for a piece of bread to mop up the sauce on his plate. "I find it's best not t’ dwell on it overmuch. Keepin' me head in the here and now suits me just fine." He refilled both of their cups with red wine. "I just sometimes wonder how many miracles there be left in the world, now that it's bein' explored by men of reason and science, with no sense of wonder, secure in their belief in their own superiority to anythin' - or anyone - they encounter."

"Men like Cutler Beckett," Margaret said.

Barbossa nodded. "Aye, men like Cutler Beckett. They want everythin' in neat little boxes, preferably t’ sell. There be no place fer magic in their world."

"The world would be poorer for it," Margaret said with a fond smile. This was what made him seem larger than life, she realised, this fierce love of life and how he met the world head-on; always willing to brave the danger if the reward was riches or wonder. The world would be poorer without  _him_ in it too, Margaret thought to herself.

...

It took a week to reach Sickle Moon Cove.

It was certainly… different. Spread out along the beach of the cove itself was a bustling little town made of a bit of everything, it seemed. There were derelict ships (brought over from Shipwreck, Margaret assumed) next to houses like the natives of these lands built them; she even spotted a few lavishly decorated mud huts. People from all corners of the world had settled on this island, and they had brought their building styles with them.

There were proper docks--no need for climbing a ladder, which Margaret was very happy about. A few other ships were already there; Barbossa pointed out each one and told her who it belonged to as they walked past them.

"Well, first things first; let's introduce ye t’ Captain Teague. Quiet, personable kind of fellow, just don't say anythin' disparagin' the Code. He's the Keeper of it and he'll just shoot ye," Barbossa said, offering his arm yet again.

They drew quite a few curious glances, and Margaret assumed it was just because they made such an unlikely pair; the fearsome pirate in the fashion of a bygone era, and she in her modest new cotton dress and a sun hat pinned to her hair, looking like the picture of an honest woman. She did carry the bodkin stiletto in her bodice and her pistol in her right pocket nonetheless.

Teague lived in a mansion-like place pieced together from various parts of various ships. Barbossa informed her that each hull formed quarters reserved for a Pirate Lord, should any arrive. The main structure held a library and Teague's quarters as well as the quarters of the Pirate Elders.

"So this is where you live?" Margaret asked in a hushed voice as they entered.

Barbossa shook his head. "Nay, I be livin' on me ship more than anywhere else, I rarely see this place. Thought ye might like t’ make use of it, at least until ye found a berth of yer own."

"That… would convey a certain… picture," Margared replied cautiously.

"Aye, 'twould. I be countin' on it, in fact. While this be not like the world ye left behind, yer still very much a woman alone fer now. And if they be thinkin' yer mine, they'd think twice about givin' ye lip," Barbossa said, and Margaret had to admit he was probably right, so she nodded her assent. It would do for now until she had earned respect in the community.

Teague's weatherbeaten face showed a welcoming smile when they found him in the library. "Hector. What wind blew you here? Oh, I see you brought me something," he added, eyeing Margaret.

"I brought us a teacher. Ransomed two governor's daughters and got t’ keep the governess fer meself," Barbossa grinned. "So I'm afraid ye'll have t’ make do with twenty bolts o’ wool cloth, eight o’ linen, and five o’ silk."

"Shame, I really like the looks of that one, buxom and with hair dark as night. But if she's yours..." Teague gave a theatrical sigh.

Margaret rolled her eyes.  _Pirates_. "That one is right here and likes to be spoken to directly, thank you kindly. Margaret Smyth, alumna of Missus Haversham's Academy for Young Ladies. I teach letters, numbers, French, Latin, the basics of the natural sciences, etiquette, and the lute," she introduced herself, boldly holding out her hand for Teague to shake. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Captain Teague."

Teague shook her hand. "I'm pleased as well, Miss Smyth. So tell me, what do you need?"

Margaret thought about that for a moment. "A classroom. Slates, a blackboard. I brought some books, but access to the library would be appreciated."

"I'm sure that can be arranged. You'll be living with Hector, I presume?" Teague asked, walking over to a desk and making a few notes on a piece of paper. "You'll be paid a salary that you can use for goods and services, but basic things here are share and share alike. Everyone gets a place to sleep, and everyone gets to eat."

"That sounds fair," Margaret agreed. "And if at all possible, I would like to continue my sword fighting lessons."

Teague shot Barbossa a wily smile. "Been teaching her, have you? Well, I suppose Jackie might be willing the next time he makes port here."

"Aye," Barbossa replied, looking like he had bitten into a lemon which seemed to amuse Teague very much. "Does he do that a lot nowadays?"

Teague sighed. "He comes and goes as he pleases, but I think we're starting to mend the rift. Hector, should you and the charming Miss Smyth ever have children, don't make the same mistake I made. Don't think that you know better what makes them happy than they do. And let them know you love them, once in a while."

Margaret and Barbossa shared an awkward glance. Parenting advice from a pirate. Now she'd seen everything.

"I'll show Miss Smyth to her quarters, the delivery should be made within the next few hours," Barbossa said, obviously eager to escape.

"Of course," Teague replied mildly and reached for a Spanish guitar, settling into an armchair, plucking at its strings. "Get your bearings, Miss Smyth, we'll talk again later once you're settled in. You said you play the lute? I hope you'll join us for music nights."

Margaret nodded and Barbossa led her down a corridor to a rather grandiose door obviously taken from a state vessel of some kind. There was a brass plaque on it that read, "Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea". On the inside it very much resembled a captain's cabin, with a huge, heavy table for maps, shelves for various nicknacks and nautical instruments, a washstand, a wardrobe, and a bed. Nothing matched, all furniture and fixtures obviously scavenged together from all sorts of vessels and places.

The resulting effect was rather homey and charming.

"If ye need space, just stow what ye don't need of me things in this here chest." he said, pointing to a big one in the corner. "I'll consider these yer quarters from now on and won't intrude on ye, and none else should dare to." He gestured back to the door. "Would ye like me t’ show you around, or would ye prefer t’ explore on yer own?"

Margaret decided to go alone. Apart from the architectural eclecticism Sickle Moon Cove didn't seem too different from other towns. People went about their business, a number of barnyard animals ambled through the streets, and children played the same games that she had when she was little.

"Miss Smyth!" Margaret turned towards the caller in confusion, not expecting to hear her name. A lovely dark-skinned woman in an elaborately patterned dress waved at her with a bright smile. "Over here. Jacob asked me to keep an eye out for ya."

Margaret walked over to her, still trying to make sense of the situation. "Jakob?"

"Ragetti. He told me you're teaching him to read," the woman replied.

Oh. Oh! "You're Enitan! Yes, Ragetti told me about you!" Margaret said with a bright smile of her own, touching the hands Enitan held out in welcome.

"Did he now," she said with mock suspicion, "what he tell ya?"

"Only that you were as beautiful as the day and had a smile like the sun. And he was right," Margaret laughed, glad to have found a woman she could maybe call friend one day.

Enitan just laughed and dragged her over to her group. "I'll introduce ya. Men are fine and good, but women need other women to be around."

There was Molly, a Scottish woman who had followed her brother to the Caribbean; and Juliette, a Creole mother of three who ran the kitchens; Lishan, a gawky young woman from Ethiopia, who ,as it turned out, was engaged to Cook.

They laughed and joked among themselves as they continued to pick beans from their shells, and Margaret settled down to help, content just to bask in the presence of women who did as they pleased and carried themselves proudly.

On her way back from waving the Pearl goodbye with Enitan, when she was passing the laundry facilities, she heard a pitiful yowl. Margaret went to investigate; it sounded like a cat in trouble, and she had a soft spot for cats. And indeed, there was a feline paddling in one of the vats; it had likely fallen in from the rafters and the lip was too high for it to be able to get out.

Margaret bent over and called to it, "Here, puss puss, come on, I'll help you. Yes, that's a good kitty."

She grabbed the cat and pulled it out of the water. "Come on, let's get you dry."

The cat immediately started purring and licking her face as she carried it to her new quarters.

Her own trunk and the one that had belonged to the Hargrove sisters had been delivered, and she hunted through her own looking for her towel. Once she found it, Margaret dried most of the water from the cat's fur, giggling a bit as it stood on end in shaggy, ginger tufts. A short examination told her that the cat was a boy and, other than wet, he was fine.

She set the animal down and looked at it questioningly. "So, dear fellow, do you want to go? Or would you like to stay? I wouldn't mind some company."

The cat made a beeline for the bed and started cleaning the rest of the water from its fur.

"Alright, then," she said, spreading the wet towel over the back of a chair to dry.

As she did so, she noticed a package carefully placed on the table so she couldn't possibly miss it. Curious, she set about unwrapping it.

It was the blue dress she had admired in Missus Collin's shop.


	8. The Cat and the Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Babblerama: Yes, I know, Goethe wrote "The Fisher" a bit later, but if the films have ships from the Napoleonic era, my fic can gave a ballad from 1779. I love it so much and it fits.  
> The erotic art: it exists and there's some stuff from the 18th century that's truly excellent - google will help you find it. It ranges from pretty sexy over hilarious to really squicky (thanks, de Sade, I hate it). They're usually copper plate etchings, and a tidbit that I found interesting was that this is how it worked; the artist and the engraver who made the actual etchings were usually two different people. So a client would commission the artist who in turn would commission the services of an engraver. The artist would then receive a certain amount of copies, but since copyright didn't exist yet, the engraver was free to print as many for himself to sell as he wanted. With respectable art this didn't work as well because the artist would sign their work, but the erotic stuff was generally published anonymously or under a pseudonym.

Enitan made settling in so much easier. She was well respected and well-liked in equal measure, and she knew many things. A master weaver she had been before she was caught and put on a ship to be sold as a slave, but the Captain didn't want anything to do with that and set the lot of them free. Enitan could have gone home; but with her village destroyed and her people scattered, she had felt like her own story led her elsewhere. So she had followed that captain to the Caribbean, and here she had, many years later, found her purpose and love as well.

She still created incredible works of art on her loom, catching the world around her, past and present, in colourful threads. She was also the keeper of knowledge for those of her people she found on this side of the ocean, rootless and afraid. Enitan remembered the legends, and she told them almost every night around the fire so their language and their culture would be kept alive.

During the day, if she wasn't weaving, she helped the other women with food preservation and cooking. This was where Margaret joined in; as long as the Island Council was still organising the setup of her school, she didn't see any reason to be idle. All things considered, she was doing fine.

Life on Sickle Moon Cove was different. There were no lords, no masters, no one to bow or curtsy to. Of course the inhabitants had their share of friction and quarrel, but all in all they worked together with the goal of building themselves a home. Margaret very much looked forward to being part of that.

Molly nudged her. "Where did ye fly off to?"

"Hm?" Margaret turned towards her. "I'm sorry, I was thinking." They were gutting fish for today's dinner. Molly had loaned her an old leather apron so her dress wouldn't get sullied with smelly fish guts.

"That's a good way t’ lose a finger," Molly scolded her. "And ye'll be needin' all ten tonight to play yer lute."

Margaret laughed. "You're right, Molly."

It was music night. Captain Teague held them once a week, and it was something of an occasion, one Margaret was looking forward to every time. Thanks to Barbossa being a sneaky scoundrel, she even had a dress for these evenings; she had learned that everyone attending tried to look their best. 

"That was the last, thank God," Lishan said, quickly wiping down her knife and hands. "I hate gutting fish."

"But you sure like to eat them,  _ non _ ?" Juliette bantered back, reaching for the spice mix she usually coated them in. "Molly, kindly check the bread,  _ oui _ ? Enitan, Maggie, those birds still need plucking."

In the kitchens Juliette reigned as queen, but she accepted any pair of hands and treated her subjects kindly. Margaret was amazed at her skill and inventiveness; the food she made was a wonderful mix of French cuisine and the various culinary traditions of the Africans and Native people in the community. Margaret learned a lot just by helping and observing, but if something in particular interested her, Juliette would explain. 

She shared her knowledge freely and treated Margaret like an equal; something the governess had always wished for. The servants in the houses she’d worked in had always held her at arm's length, counting her one of the masters even though she was paid and worked just like them. Her employers had counted her as one of the staff, so she was caught between worlds belonging to none; a sad and lonely existence. To just be accepted into the fold here felt wonderful.

Margaret reached for one of the scalded chickens and started divesting it of its feathers in big, fluffy handfuls. The kitchen window overlooked the sea, and Margaret caught herself staring at the horizon constantly, hoping to spot black sails.

“They be back soon,” Enitan disrupted her thoughts.

Quickly turning her eyes back to her chicken, Margaret asked, “What do you mean?”

“You fool nobody, Maggie, it obvious.” Enitan lowered her voice. “Ya want him. Love him maybe, but want him certainly. The others, they believing that ya his already, and they wouldn't if ya didn’t behave like a woman in love.”

Margaret flinched and glanced around, but Juliette, Molly, and Lishan were busy in other corners of the kitchens and couldn’t possibly have heard. “I don’t. That would be folly,” she mumbled.

Hector Barbossa was a dangerous man, perhaps the most dangerous she’d ever met. And he was so in more than one way; and there was more than one way he could hurt her.

Like she had been hurt before, when she was still young, trusting, and ignorant of what exactly women were to most men.

But Hector hadn’t treated her like that, she argued with herself. He had abducted her, true, but he hadn’t hurt her, treated her like an equal, had given her a  _ choice _ . Had tried to give her what she yearned for and succeeded.

“Life is a story,” Enitan replied, “the paths you choose lead you to wonderful or terrible things - but how will ya know if ya never start walkin’?”

Margaret shook her head. “Found the terrible already, and I’m not risking that again. It’s just… not worth it.”

“How can ya be sure? Ya don’t know the story yet. And ya need not walk alone,” Enitan said, leaning forward and grasping Margaret’s hands in hers. “Ya family now. Like Molly, like Juliette, like Lishan. We look out for each other. Wouldn’t ya do the same?”

Margaret swallowed hard, suddenly overwhelmed by the things she felt at hearing those words. “Yes. Yes, of course. There’s not a whole lot I wouldn’t do.”

Enitan leaned back, a bright smile on her face. “See? No worries.”

Margaret couldn’t think of anything to refute that.

After dinner, when night had fallen, Margaret made her way to the assembly hall dressed in the beautiful blue  _ robe à l'anglaise _ , her hair styled into an elegant bouffant held in place by a golden hairfork she found among Barbossa's things. She didn't think he'd mind her borrowing it, as it was just one of many precious little things strewn around the cabin; it seemed the man was a bit of a magpie.

She  _ did _ miss him.

He had blown into her life like a storm, had turned it upside down in the best possible way, and just as suddenly he was gone again, off to a new adventure, aiming for a new prize to take. But it was the quiet moments she missed most, their conversations, shared knowledge, finding common ground in the most surprising ways. His mercurial nature that kept her on her toes, his dry wit and sharp mind.

The assembly hall was the heart of the Pirate Council building, but it wasn't just used for politics, it was a place that was used for any occasion that needed room for lots of people.

The table and chairs that were the seats of the Pirate Lords was populated by musicians this evening, with Teague waving her into Barbossa's chair as he always did. There was a set pattern to these things; Teague would start with a song of his choice that set the mood for the next part. Sometimes he chose bawdy pieces, sometimes ballads that told of great struggles, and sometimes he chose sweet, lovelorn tunes.

Tonight he started out with a song about a selkie and her lover; so the theme seemed to be maritime mythology. Both honest seamen and pirates could sing about mermaids and sirens until the gulls came to roost in any language they chose, but Margaret had to dig around in her head for quite a bit until she could think of a song to share.

The common patterns seemed to be that mermaids really liked to comb their hair, Margaret thought, as she listened to the songs in languages she could understand. When it was her turn, she chose "The Fisher." As she delivered the final lines--"Half pulled, half plunging down he sank/ and ne'er was heard of more"-- she was pleased to see that it had passed muster.

After the sharing of songs, everyone would just join in playing together as long as they pleased, throwing tunes back and forth, melding different songs and styles. It was that part Margaret enjoyed most, and it was that part that showed Teague as a brilliant musician.

When that was done, the musicians shared a drink and a chat, and the audience dispersed to find other forms of entertainment. Teague usually served a truly excellent Madeira. Margaret enjoyed the company, but rarely ever contributed to the conversation, just quietly observing the people around her, or being lost in her own thoughts.

Tonight it was the latter and the Madeira had made her a bit sleepy, so she didn't notice the man who had sat down next to her until he spoke. "Evenin' luv. I hear some pretty interesting things about you. Maggie, is it?"

Margaret turned to face him, and her first impression were dark eyes sparkling with mischief in a devilishly handsome face. "Interesting? You obviously have me confused for someone else," she bantered back. "I'm just a teacher. And we're the most boring people on earth. Except maybe accountants."

"Maybe that's true for most teachers, but most teachers wouldn't come to educate young rascals in a pirate town, aye?" he replied, taking a sip from his tankard. "And I'm sure most teachers don't look for someone to give them fencing lessons."

Ah, so that was what this was about. "You may have a point there, Mister..."

" _ Captain _ ," he replied with emphasis. "Captain Jack Sparrow." He looked around furtively, then leaned in to ask, "Is it true, though? You're with…." He gestured around his head in a huge circle and put a snarl on his face.

"Hector?" Margaret guessed, laughing quietly at his antics. This was the legendary Jack Sparrow who had vexed Cutler Beckett so much?

Sparrow nodded. "Aye. Hector. Can't be true, though can it? What would a lovely lady like you see in that old scarecrow of a pirate? You're not here under duress, are you?"

Margaret had to admit his concern was rather sweet, but she was a bit tired of people assuming that she'd only be with Barbossa if forced. "Nothing that happened between Hector and myself was anything I didn't freely and happily go along with," she said primly, waiting for him to come to the inevitable wrong conclusions to her vague (but nonetheless true) words.

He didn't disappoint, rearing back with a thoroughly appalled expression on his face. "Ew, Maggie, you ought to get your head checked, luv. He's horribly ugly. The bulbous nose and those awful claws?" He shuddered. "And that unkempt, scraggly beard!"

Margaret didn't care to hear Barbossa insulted like that -  _ and _ she was having too much fun not to draw this out a little longer. So she leaned in and replied with a saucy grin, "Oh, but he has… other qualities that make up for that."

"Stop! Belay that and stow it, I don't want those images in my head!" he cried out clasping his hands over his ears. "Yeuch!"

Margaret collapsed in helpless laughter. When she finally got a hold of herself she pointed a finger at him. "Then don't ask questions you really don't want answered."

"Touché. I promise to never ask again, if you promise not ever to tell me about the things you and Hector get up to," Sparrow proposed. "And I'll teach you to fence."

Margaret smiled at him sweetly. "We have an accord, Captain Sparrow," she said, deliberately adopting Hector's West Country accent and mimicking his grin.

"Maggie, luv, that's just plain creepy. Please don't ever do that again. You're too good at it," Sparrow said with a mock shudder and a grin of his own.

That just set Margaret off again.

They kept conversing for a while, and she found him witty and charming - perhaps a little too much so. He was well-read and obviously had a solid education and Margaret was appreciative; as wonderful and knowing as her new friends were, none of them had any interest in academics. 

As the get-together started to wrap up, Captain Sparrow gallantly offered to escort her back to her quarters. As they reached her door, the ginger cat was waiting in front of it.

"Well, hello," Margaret greeted it, but when Sparrow tried to pet it, the cat hissed and swiped at him. Margaret laughed and let the cat in. As usual it went straight to her bed and curled up.

Sparrow seemed amused by this. "Did you name him?"

"Not yet, nothing fitting came to mind," Margaret replied.

"In that case you should name him Hector, luv," Sparrow suggested with a self-satisfied grin.

Margaret was a bit confused. "Why?"

"Well," he said, thoughtfully tapping his chin. "Shaggy ginger beastie, sharp black claws, surly disposition, and you let him sleep in your bed - which one am I talking about?"

Margaret blushed, but had to admit he was right. "Hector it is," she agreed.

Sparrow seemed too happy about this by half, and she wondered what had prompted this. He bowed and said his goodbyes, telling her to come find him in the quarters assigned to the Pirate Lord of the Caribbean once she was ready for fencing lessons.

"Well, Hector," she told the cat, "this was certainly interesting."

Hector-the-Cat just squinted his eyes at her, got up, stretched, and ambled over to the plate with fish heads she had saved for him.

Margaret had unpinned her dress and was combing out her hair when she heard a crash behind her and whirled around. Where there had been a wall shelf full of various books, there was now one empty shelf with only Hector-the-Cat on it, looking confused.

"Hector," Margaret said reproachfully, "bad kitty."

The cat jumped down and when he did, Margaret saw that there was what looked like a portfolio still on the shelf, flat against the wall, likely hidden behind the other books and forgotten.

Hector-the-Cat hurried over to the door and demanded to be let out again, so Margaret did before going to clean up the mess and to investigate.

Taking the portfolio from the shelf and replacing the books on it was a matter of moments, after that she took the mysterious object to the table and sat in one of the elaborate armchairs around it.

As she opened it, her eyes grew wide.

Well. That certainly explained the hiding place; the portfolio was filled with prints of a rather scandalous nature. Margaret wasn't an innocent; she was a woman on the wrong side of five-and-thirty and had seen quite a few things in her life.

She slowly leafed through her find by the light of a few candles. The images were… stirring, she had to admit. The artistic quality was high; this wasn't some cheap smut peddled in questionable parts of town, these prints were obviously labours of love or commissioned work for a wealthy patron.

Margaret shifted in her seat and bit her lip. They were lovely things, explicit but not without taste. No wonder Barbossa had hung on to them, even if he seemed to have forgotten he had them.

Should she?

Biting her lip, she debated with herself. Surely there was no harm in indulging herself a little? Nobody would ever know...

She pulled up one foot and spread her thighs, her hand finding its way under her petticoats and shift. Closing her eyes she imagined herself in place of the women in the pictures she'd found, only the image of the partner shifted from the well-groomed gentlemen wearing fine, powdered wigs to a certain unkempt rogue wearing his usual wicked grin.

Well. That was new. But Margaret let her imagination run where it would; what happened in the sanctity of her mind was hers and hers alone.

When she was done, still flushed and panting, she gathered up the sheets of paper and put them back into their hiding place. Now that her rational mind was back at the helm, she started to worry. She didn't just like Barbossa, she desired him; and that way, she knew from her own bitter experiences in the past, lay pain and madness. She absent-mindedly continued undressing until all that was left was her shift and went to bed.

But sleep took a long time coming.


	9. Casting a Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Babblerama: Yes, a pirate double-date. Sue me. When Barbossa remarks that Galilei was wrong about the oceans, he's referring to his theory that the tides were caused by the sun, which obviously turned out to be false.

Weeks passed, and the organisation of the school was going well; the carpenter had made child-sized school desks and a blackboard, slates for the students and chalk for her had been acquired, as well as stacks of paper for written exams, ink and inkwells.

Many inhabitants were eager to have her teach their children, but many were reluctant; figured that if they had no need of letters or numbers, neither did their kids. That she would just "put silly ideas into their heads." he parents of girls were especially reluctant.

It took a lot of convincing to change their minds, and both Molly and Enitan worked on the mothers, but her staunchest supporter - surprisingly - turned out to be Jack Sparrow. "Let's just say I know what it's like to grow up among pirates without a proper teacher, luv," he had said with a sad smile when she'd asked him why.

In combination with Teague's remark when she'd met him for the first time, a certain picture was starting to form in her mind - and the way they both cautiously circled each other like strange cats told her the rest.

As much as she thought it wasn't a good idea, the children of the community were expected to work, and she had to plan her lessons around the rhythm of seafaring life. That's what she was doing in a conference with the parents of several prospective students when a boy raced towards them. "The  _Black Pearl_ is inbound!" he shouted as he came closer.

Margaret recognised him as Juliette's oldest, Jean. While the arrival of a Pirate Lord might otherwise create a bit of a stir, the _Pearl_ was at home in these waters and berthed here often, so her arrival was hardly grounds for this much excitement.

The boy now stood in front of her, panting. "Momma says to tell you that Enitan is inviting you to celebrate their return."

Ah. Now that made more sense. "Thank you for delivering the message, Jean," she said, "I'll be along shortly."

She quickly wrapped things up with the parents who let her leave with understanding smiles on most of their faces; they knew what it was to be parted from a loved one at sea, and that was what they believed Barbossa was to her.

They weren't even wrong. For the first time in two decades she loved a man, and it was that one.

Molly intercepted Margaret on her way to Enitan's home and redirected her to Margaret's own quarters. "Ye will make yourself presentable. Yer man is coming home, ye should look yer best."

There was no arguing with Molly McIvers, so Margaret obediently changed into her pretty blue gown and Molly swiftly turned her utilitarian bun into something more elegant, complete with the golden hairfork.

Arrived at Enitan's home, Margaret helped her put the finishing touches to the table laid for four. Her friend was dressed just as resplendently in a dress she had woven and sewn herself according to the customs of her people. She had several; Margaret had learned that each dress had a specific meaning.

After a short while Barbossa and Ragetti entered the room. Enitan and her lover embraced without hesitation, faces aglow with happiness. Barbossa just stopped in his tracks, wordlessly staring at Margaret. The blatant hunger in his eyes would have frightened her a mere few weeks ago, but now it just stoked a smouldering fire in her belly. 

Barbossa reached for Margarets hands and pressed a kiss on the backs of them. "Ye’re a vision," he said quietly, voice even more husky than usual.

"I'm glad to see you too," Margaret replied with a happy smile.

As she looked at him she noticed that he had made an effort to look presentable. He had obviously scrubbed down and was wearing a fresh shirt. The usual tar stains on his hands were almost gone, and he had brushed his hair. Sparrow would still complain about the beard, but Margaret liked it the way it was.

The puckish gleam in his eyes returned as he pointed at the hair fork and remarked, "I see ye did a bit of piratin' too."

"Oh. That. I found it in your quarters, I hope you don't mind me borrowing it without permission," she replied, biting her lip. 

Barbossa just chuckled. "I don't even rightly know why I hung on to it. If that bit o' shine makes ye happy, it's yer's. But I brought ye something too." He reached into the pocket of his coat and produced a small journal bound in red leather with a big, uneven ruby set into the front above an embossed picture of the Trident constellation. "Picked it up on an Italian ship we capered."

Margaret took it and opened it. It was written in Italian, and while not conversational in the language, she could read it well enough. When she came to the name of the author she gasped. "Galilei? This… this was written by _Galileo_   _Galilei_? Hector, this is a  _treasure_!"

"I'm not so sure about that, Maggie; I leafed through and it seems it be about the Trident of Poseidon. An old myth, and probably just that. The man knew his stars, but where the oceans be concerned he was wrong more often than not. But since ye love old myths, I thought ye might enjoy it," he replied.

Margaret smiled brightly and put the book in her pocket.

Everything was ready, so the four sat down to eat. Barbossa and Ragetti regaled the two ladies with a wild tale involving a three-day chase and a fight that ended in the Italian ship's surrender.

Margaret was halfway through her piece of the pie Molly had made for pudding, when everything went black.

...

Margaret woke, feeling groggy and sluggish. Her head felt like it was filled with cotton, and there was a dull pulsing of pain in the background. She groaned and tried to sit up, but a hand on her shoulder pushed her back down.

"Easy, Maggie, give yerself a moment," a voice she knew very well said in a gentle murmur.

Margaret relaxed. "Hector? What happened?"

"Yer friends happened," he replied in what sounded like an amused snark. "It's all fine, though, I suppose."

Her head seemed to clear somewhat and she opened her eyes and slowly sat up with Hector's help. Margaret found herself in a shelter made of driftwood and large leaves. What was strange was that someone obviously had made an effort to make things… pretty? There were candles and colourful little glass lamps everywhere, soft rugs, and an ungodly number of pillows.

And it was quiet. Too quiet. The normal din of the settlement could not be heard. "What do you mean my friends happened?"

Hector, dressed in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves and without his trademark hat for once, handed her what looked like a letter and shook his head in comical desperation. "Read fer yerself."

Margaret took the letter and did just that.

 

_Dear Miss Smyth and Captn Barbossa,_

_We apologise most Profusly for this Interfention but we all Agreed that it is neccesary. The Both of you pinin for each Other is gettin on Everyones nervs, so we Decided to put you ashore on this here ailand until the Situaton has been Rezolved to our and your Satisfaction._

_We will come Back in three Days hence but if we do not see you Kiss we will turn back around. Shelter and profisions have been supplide, and a trail to fresh water is markd._

_Captn Barbossa, you are welcom to stringe me from the yardarm by my gutes later._

_Miss Smyth, please do somethin' he's been grouchy as all hell (that bit had been struck through) orribly grouchy._

_Respectefully,_

_Enitan, Juliett Boregard, Molly McIvers, and Jakob Ragetti_

Margaret let the letter sink into her lap and started to laugh until her eyes teared up and her belly ached from it. It took her several minutes and quite a few false starts to compose herself, but when she had finally managed to do so, she noticed that Hector was looking at her with a soft smile. "What?"

"'Tis the first time I've seen ye laugh. Really laugh, that is," he replied, then he sobered a bit. "Ye’re takin' this surprisingly well."

"Why would I take this badly? This is a bit of tomfoolery, certainly, but it's not malicious." Margaret asked him, confused.

Barbossa hesitated for a moment, obviously choosing his words very carefully. "They set certain… conditions, and ye made it plenty obvious that ye'll not have me. And I accepted that. But here we be faced with a bit of a conundrum, as it is."

Margaret bit her lip, unsure what to reply to that; the only conundrum she could see were her own convoluted feelings when it came to Hector. It pained her to see the dejection in his eyes, but the truth was - she was afraid. Not of him, not any more, but of her own heart.

It had led her horridly astray before, after all.

He took her silence as assent. "More than anything, I want ye happy, Maggie. And now that ye met others, especially Sparrow," he grimaced, "I know I don't compare well t’ him. And I wish I could say that I had other qualities, but me ugly mug fits what's inside fairly well."

He meant what he said and wasn't fishing, Margaret could tell, and her heart broke for him a little. "Hector, there is nothing wrong with your face," she said and was surprised at her own vehemence. "Or any other part of you. And yes, Sparrow may be a charming scoundrel, but he's not the scoundrel I want."

"What scoundrel be ye wantin', then?" he asked, his face guarded.

To hell with it, Margaret decided. He deserved the truth, if nothing else. "I want the one who's wily and wicked, but who always keeps his word. I want the one who's done horrible things, but who sticks to his own code of honour like a barnacle to a ship's hull. I want the one who makes careful plans and is a cautious tactician, but who laughs in the face of any storm that tries to rip his ship apart." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I want the one who has treated me kindly and with respect even though he didn't have to. The one who stole me from a ship only to give me the opportunity to live a life like I never dared to dream of, without asking for anything in return. That's the one I want."

She opened her eyes again when she felt him cup her face in his hands. "Do ye truly mean that?" Hector asked, hope dawning on his face. 

They were both sitting on the makeshift bedding their abductors had supplied them with, so it was easy for Margaret to move close enough to wrap her arms around him. "Yes, yes I do."

His hands left her face and he pulled her close, resting his chin on top of her head. "Then why didn't ye just say? Surely ye know that ye be holdin' me black heart in yer little hands."

"It's not you I doubt, Hector. There are… things in my past that you don't know," Margaret mumbled into his shirt.

She felt him shrug, and he ran a soothing hand up and down her back. "Yer past is yer own, and it made ye the woman ye be today. Tell me if ye will and I'll not judge ye, heaven knows, I'm in no place to do so."

Margaret was relieved to hear that. She raised her head and smoothed a hand over his weatherbeaten cheek, her thumb tracing the scar below his eye. "I suppose we'd best start practising that kiss they're expecting," she teased, and Hector seemed all too happy to oblige.

His lips were softer than she thought they would be, and his beard tickled; she couldn't really remember the last time her heart was this close to bursting out of pure joy.


	10. Charting a New Course

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Babblerama: This is it. This is the last one, then epilogue, and we're done.   
> Breaking an engagement was Serious Business - usually because it was just that, business. Deserting a woman you were engaged to came with quite a bit of public censure, that's why Robert feels the need to blackmail Margaret.  
> Hygiene in the 18th century was notably different from today's standards, but people did clean themselves. Bathing in warm water was seen as a health risk, but swimming in cold water was deemed healthy. If you had the money, you'd change your underwear (shifts for women, shirts long enough to double as underpants for men) daily or even several times a day; sponge baths using water and soap cleaned you up well enough, and alum stones functioned as deo-sticks - aluminium salts are still widely used in antiperspirants to this day, even though the use is controversial because of it possibly (the jury is still out on that one) increasing the risk of breast cancer.

They basked in each others presence for quite some time until Barbossa sighed. "Much as I'd like to while away the hours in bliss beside ye, we should go and get drinking water before the sun sets."

Margaret made a discontented noise, but had to admit that he was right. Barbossa helped her to her feet, but then she hesitated. "The dress. It would be a shame to ruin it by walking through a jungle," she said in reply to a questioning look from him.

"I can make the trek alone," he suggested.

Margaret shook her head. "No that wouldn't be fair. I'll just leave it here. I don't believe I thanked you for it yet, so thank you. It's as lovely a thing as I ever had, and I never thought I'd be wearing the likes of it. How did you know to get that one?"

"I returned to Missus Collins' shop later that day." Barbossa explained while Margaret removed the pins, "I just asked her, 'Which one did she really want?' And Missus Collins pointed at that one. So I asked her if she could manage t' alter it t' yer measurements in time, and she said that be possible. 'S when she gave me the stiletto fer ye, but didn't tell me what it was. Didn't trust me an inch. Smart woman," he added with a fond smile.

"And you paid for it?" Margaret asked with a stern glare.

Barbossa just grinned proudly. "That very moment and the exact price she asked. Didn't even haggle."

Margaret just snorted and shook her head with a fond smile.

The dress now carefully folded on the bedding, Margaret left the shelter in her stays and petticoats, which still covered her very modestly, and they set off for the fresh water source.

As Ragetti had written in his letter, the trail was marked. Someone, possibly Enitan, had tied colourful ribbons around various bits and pieces of vegetation to lead them to their destination. The fresh water source turned out to be a lovely pond fed by a waterfall with exotic, tropical flowers in bloom all around. Margaret stood for a moment and stared; she didn't think she'd ever seen anything this magical.

"Fancy a dip?" Barbossa purred in her ear.

Margaret shook her head. "You said it yourself, it will get dark soon. And I'd really like to take my time to enjoy this place properly."

So they just filled the water skins and returned to their shelter. Barbossa set about to build a fire, while Margaret looked through the provisions left for them. Cold meats and a roast chicken that would keep until tomorrow, fresh bread and fruit. She found their weapons and a bag of salted pork and hardtack - in the case of an emergency, Margaret assumed, that would keep her merry band of mischief-makers from retrieving them from the island on time.

And of course there was a bottle of rum and two cups to drink it from. Margaret recognised the label on the bottle; they'd been supplied with the good stuff, dark and sweet as sin.

When Barbossa had managed to get a decent fire going, Margaret took a taper and lighted some of the candles and lamps in the shelter. The effect was charming, and she smiled at the ingenuity of her friends.

Fixing two plates with what they'd been provided was a simple thing, and since she knew that Barbossa would prefer to be where he could see the stars, she brought food and drink to the fire and settled into the warm sand next to him.

They ate in companionable silence, until Hector set his plate aside and nudged her. "What's on yer mind?"

"I'm not sure how to... proceed. This is not anything I ever even thought about - in the world I'm from courtship has a pattern, it has rules. I hate every single one of them, but they do show you where to go. Like a map. And now I feel as if I've fallen off the edge of it," she replied.

Hector suddenly wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, startling a little shriek and a laugh out of her. "Aye. And here there be monsters," he playfully growled into her ear. Then his voice shifted towards gentle and reassuring. "Ye don't need a map if ye have a compass and the stars t' guide ye. In this case yer heart be yer compass."

"But therein lies the rub, Hector - I can't trust my heart. Nothing good ever came from following it," she muttered, reaching for the rum. "I think I should tell you why, but there's no way I'm doing so sober. It's been two decades, but it still hurts."

He wordlessly manuevered them so she could lean against his chest and simply waited for her to start talking.

Margaret took a fortifying gulp of rum, enjoying the smooth sweetness for a moment. "When I was young, my father made a fortune trading colonial goods. We lived in a grand house, and since he had his sights set on higher things, he provided us, my sister and me, with the very best education his money could buy in hopes of us snaring a lord. I was young and pretty and  _stupid_ ," she spat the last word. Another swig of rum washed the bitterness out of her mouth, at least for a moment. "And as my father and mother had hoped, a young Viscount set to inherit even grander titles showed an interest in me. It looked oh so favourable - he was going to be an heir of grand things, but at that moment in time short of money. I was the daughter of a commoner, true, but I'd come with a substantial dowry.

"I found him horribly charming. Soon enough I was head over heels in love, and he asked to marry me. Life could not have been more perfect. A proper, sodding  _fairytale_." 

Now came the part she needed the liquid fortification for. 

"My parents encouraged me to trap and snare him properly by getting with child. They all but pushed me into his bed, and I didn't see the trouble, since we'd be married soon enough anyway and physical love was just another expression of the deep emotions between us, right?

"What I didn't know was that my father had made some really questionable business decisions and had lost all his money, so he hoped I'd be carrying a child to force Robert to marry me even though my dowry had gone up in smoke." Her voice grew very low and lost all inflection. "But Robert wouldn't have any of it. I was on my knees, Hector. On my knees before him. Crying. Begging him not to forsake me. And he," Margaret swallowed but the words came out of her throat in a choked rasp despite of that, "Hector, he laughed at me. Called me a harlot, said that perhaps he'd have reconsidered if I hadn't spread my legs for him that easily. But what was to expect from a common bred slut like me?"

Margaret could feel Hector's hands twitch in rage, but he kept silent, waiting for her to finish her tale. "Just as well I wasn't with child. He threatened to expose my compromised virtue if I didn't quietly agree to the dissolution of our engagement. What choice did I have?" Another sip and then she deflated. "My parents blamed me for everything. I ruined the family. It was my fault that we had to move out of our grand house because nobody would extend credit to my father without the connection to the nobility that I would have provided. One day I just couldn't take it any more. I packed up my things, sold what I could and looked for work. My parents disowned me. And that's it. That's the sorry tale of what happens to a woman in a man's world if she follows her heart."

Hector was silent for a moment, and then his voice reminded her why he was so feared by most people. "His _name_ , Margaret. Tell me his name. I'll bring ye his  _head_."

Margaret just let out a humourless chuckle. "No. Having his head isn't worth the chance of you losing yours. But the offer is appreciated." After reliving that painful part of her past she felt empty and sore, and the alcohol was starting to affect her. "I'm tired, Hector. Can we go to bed?"

"Aye, that we can. Go on, I'll bank the fire. I'll be right along, if ye'll allow," he replied.

Margaret found a smile somewhere. "Yes, I think I will. I don't want to be alone any more. I've been alone for so long."

Hector helped her to her feet, and Margaret slowly made her way to the shelter. She untied her petticoats and unlaced her stays, neatly setting them and the dress aside until she crawled under the colourful quilt in her shift.

Emotionally exhausted as she was, she was asleep within moments.

...

Margaret woke feeling slightly overheated but too boneless to do anything about it. Her legs were tangled with another pair, and when she opened her eyes, she was looking right into Hector's face. His eyes were closed, and sleep had smoothed out some of the lines, as sleep did. He had an arm loosely around her waist, and Margaret found she had done the same with him. It was strange, new, to wake up in someone's arms, and she found she quite liked it.

Unable to resist, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. He hummed and the arm around her tightened. Then, suddenly, she found herself on her back with him on top of her seemingly intent on kissing the living daylights out of her. The sudden wave of arousal that swept through her was a surprise, but there was something else that made her push him off.

He immediately went with it, his face contrite. "I'm sorry, Margaret, I shouldn't have...."

"No, Hector, you did nothing wrong," Margaret hushed him gently. "You just happened to put quite a bit of pressure on my bladder."

Hector rolled over, silently laughing, and Margaret got up to follow the call of nature.

The embers of the fire from last night were perfect for toasting bread over, and Hector picked out a variety of fruit and cheese to go with it. They even managed tea.

While they ate, they made plans for the day. "Might be a good idea t' go for a swim in the pond when it's gettin' hot," Hector sugested.

"That sounds heavenly," Margaret replied, "Might also be a good opportunity to wash our linens. Our mischief-makers supplied us with everything under the sun, but not a change of clothes."

Hector nodded. "Aye. The fruit and cheese should keep until the day after, but the meat should be eaten t'day. I'll see if I can catch us someth'n, or we could go look fer shellfish at low tide."

They wouldn't starve; her friends had seen to that, but having fresh things to eat would be nicer than salted pork and hardtack. Margaret packed what wouldn't keep for much longer to take with them to the pond, grabbed a bar of lovely French lavender soap, and off they went.

Speaking about her past had been an ordeal, but she felt better for it, as if there had been a ball of poison in her belly for years that she had finally managed to vomit out. She was finally free if it all, the fear, the anger, the hatred. Pandora's Box had opened and all the evils had fled; and like in the story what remained was hope.

The pond was just as magical as it had been the day before, and even though she was only clad in her shift, she was sweaty from the trek and the salt was burning her skin. Going for a swim in it seemed like heaven.

Setting down the things she carried on the blanket Hector had spread out, she tried to decide how to proceed; would it be better to go into the water in her shift and strip once there, or take it of now and walk in naked?

Hector on the other hand had gotten out of his boots, shirt, socks, and breeches in no time and just walked into the water with his shirt in his hands, keeping his back towards her. Margaret got the impression of him being all angles and hard lines, except where he was a little soft around the middle from age and enjoying good food.

The distinctive scars a whip left on his back became apparent as the light hit them just so; even though they were silvery with age, the sight of such marks of cruelty made her gasp.

Hector, correctly guessing what this was about, just shrugged. "Most of us had a damn good reason to turn pirate, Maggie. If the captains of lawful ships treated their crew better, maybe not as many would. But in me case that was just t' last drop."

Since he seemed determined to give her privacy to undress, Margaret did and followed him in after quickly undoing her bun and braid. It was heavenly. 

The pond wasn't deep; the water only covered her to just below her breasts, so she clutched her shift to her chest in an unconscious attempt to preserve her modesty. Part of her was glad he didn't look yet; the last time someone had seen her naked was when she was barely eighteen - and while she was still fashionably plump with round shoulders and wide hips, she was nearing forty and things had started to sag a little.

Hector turned around and set his shirt afloat on the surface, then gently pulled Margaret into his arms, resting his forehead against hers.

It was strange. She'd been jittery until that very moment; but as soon as they touched, Margaret felt a feeling of complete peace washing over her. She freed one hand and wrapped her arm around his broad back, smoothing her palm over the terrible scars.

Kissing seemed like the thing to do, and Hector seemed to agree when Margaret tilted her head up to find his lips. He plucked the soap out of her hands without looking and started to run the now wet bar over her skin, spreading the lather as he went.

Margaret snatched it back after a while, the shift floating away, forgotten, and did the same to him. They made a game out of it - getting each other clean above the waterline without stopping the kiss.

The heady scent of lavender surrounded them, and soon enough they were done. Hector leaned back and the puckish glint in his eyes was Margaret's only warning, before he lifted her up and threw her backwards into the water.

Margaret came back up coughing and sputtering, then turned on him once she had untangled her arms from her sopping, dark mane. "You!" she roared and tackled him so he overbalanced and went under as well.

Only, he didn't resurface. Margaret looked around nervously. Had he hit his head? She was about to dive to look for him underwater, when she felt him sweep out her legs from under her, and down she went again.

When she came back up, she retreated to a safe distance, her hands on her hips in an annoyed gesture, as she waited for him to stop laughing. When he finally did, she measured him with her best you-naughty-child glare. "Hector. You lost our soap!"

"I did not," he replied, pointing towards the shore of the pond. "It be right there."

Ah. He must have chucked it there right before he chucked  _her_. 

Margaret huffed. "You horrible old scoundrel. For that-" She waded to the shore, picked up the bar of soap, and tossed it back to him. "-you get to wash our things!"

Hector deftly caught the soap and shrugged. "As Milady commands," he bantered back and fished their still floating clothes out of the water. "I consider meself compensated fer me efforts by the lovely view."

Margaret, who was standing at the shore, wringing out her hair, froze for a moment. Right. Naked. Oh well, nothing to be done about that. Her hair now only lazily dripping, she settled on the blanket and watched as Hector methodically cleaned their linens. Of course he'd know how to do that, she realised--no woman to mend his clothes for him on a ship, and while obviously not new, they were well-cared for - no tears left unmended and not a single button missing.

The task done, Hector spread out her shift and his shirt to dry and joined her on the blanket. After another kiss, she found herself on her back with him looming above her. "Maggie, love, after that spirited romp and the work of washing our things, I find meself a bit peckish."

"Well, good thing that I packed food, then. I even brought your apples," Margaret replied, running her fingers through his wet hair. They caught in tangles, and she thought about brushing it out for him.

Hector nodded gravely. "Aye, apples. But those are fer later, I think. Right now-" his lips found her neck and steadily moved south, "-I find meself hungerin' fer another kind of fruit." 

"Oh?" she asked, a bit breathless.

Her only answer was a hum, until he had arrived at her belly. She shivered when he ran his longish fingernails through the patch of dark curls that hid her sex.

Maneuvering her right leg so it lay over his shoulder, he pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh. "I think I'd like a lovely, juicy peach," he said, looking up at her, obviously waiting for her response.

Oh. Oh! Nobody had ever done that with her; she only knew of that act through salacious art like she had found in her quarters. She had always wondered, though. "Why would I deny a starving man?" she replied, breathless.

He parted the springy pelt along her slit and went to work.

Margaret's head fell back onto the blanket and her breath caught - this was... so much better than anything she'd ever done before. The sensations were almost too intense, almost but not quite; he obviously knew what he was doing. She could rapidly feel herself reaching her peak, and when he slipped two of his fingers inside and  _curled_ them, she came, screaming into the back of her hand.

She was still trying to catch her breath when he came into her field of view, lazily wiping a hand over his mouth and down his beard. "Thankee, Maggie, that was delicious, as succulent a fruit as I've ever tasted. Now if only I could find a lovely, snug place t' stow me bowsprit," he mused, pretending to think.

Margaret wrapped her arms around his neck and laughed. "I think I've got one, why don't you see if it fits?"

Hector was smiling, but Margaret could see the hunger in his eyes; she was about to be devoured. She liked the prospect of that quite a bit. So far her experience in these matters was only with one man - one she did her best to forget - and she was looking forward to making new ones.

"Well, Missy, prepare t' be boarded," he growled and Margaret couldn't help but laugh.

"If I had a white flag, I'd be waving it. But alas, it lies yonder," she bantered back, pointing towards her shift.

The devilish grin on his face would have scared Margaret a mere few weeks ago, but right now it just excited her. He wrapped her legs around his waist and lined himself up with what he aimed for. "Then I'm afraid ye'll be given no quarter. No parlay, just a thorough plundering," he growled and drove himself home.

Margaret winced, and he immediately stilled, apologising. Shaking her head, she shushed him. "It's fine. It's just... been a while."

She didn't know how he compared to the only man she'd ever lain with, but she suspected that his assets were a bit more sizable. Soon enough she had adjusted and encouraged him to move, which he did.

He was careful at first, obviously wanting to make up for his initial blunder, and Margaret enjoyed that - but soon enough it wasn't, well,  _enough_ , so she asked for more. Hector happily obliged and proceeded to nail her to the blanket, grabbing her leg and throwing it over his shoulder so he could go deeper at a better angle.

That sent her over the edge again soon after and had she not been thoroughly caught up in what they were doing, the noises she made would have embarrassed her to no end. But he wasn't done yet, ruthlessly chasing his own pleasure while all she could do was to clutch at his strong back and let him.

Hector bit into her shoulder and groaned into her skin as he finally finished, and a moment later keeled over sideways, dragging her with him. They were both panting, flushed, and covered in sweat.

"Well," Margaret said between rapid breaths, "Consider me thoroughly plundered."

She felt Hector's laugh more than she heard it. "Nay, I doubt such a bountiful load can be carried off in one go. I'll have t' come back often."

"Alas, if that shall be my fate," Margaret sighed in mock mournfulness, "at least grant me provisions. I'm awfully hungry."

Hector chuckled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Ye'll find me an affable victor."

When he turned to get reach for the cloth bad she'd stored the food it, Margaret gasped. "Oh, Hector! Your back! I'm so sorry!"

She had scratched him up something fierce, but he just laughed. "I knew I was playin' with a lioness, so a few scratches are t' be expected."

"I'm hardly a lioness," Margaret argued.

Hector handed her the bag with another chuckle. "But only a lioness would defend her young as determinedly as ye did when we met," he said, trailing a hand through her hair. "I've always thought of ye as such. A lioness that fer some reason likes pretendin' she's a housecat."

"Oh, that reminds me - I have one now. Big, ferocious, red beast decided he was mine after I fished him out of a laundry vat and I didn't feel like arguing the point. I hope you don't mind," she said.

Hector accepted the portion of food she handed him. "A big, ferocious, red beast, ye say? I think yer lookin' t' start a collection."

"Funny, Sparrow seemed to think along the same lines when he named him 'Hector'," Margaret laughed.

Hector-the-Pirate looked at her like Hector-the-Cat had when she'd given him a bath after he'd gotten fish oil in his fur a week ago. " _Sparrow_ named the cat after me?"

Margaret shrugged. "Well, you did name your monkey 'Jack'. Took me a moment to understand why he was so giddy about it, but I think, fair is fair. At least Hector is imposing. For a cat. And he helped with the loneliness while you were away."

"Missed me, did ye?" he asked, mollified.

Margaret nodded and kissed the tip of his nose. "Terribly."

Feeling drowsy and langourous, Margaret reflected on what she'd just experienced. Her former fiance had taught her many ways to please him, but had not been terribly mindful of her pleasure or comfort, she realised that now. Hector on the other hand was less refined, but a lot more generous in that regard. His attentions hadn't left her feeling cheap and used, they'd come together as equals and had enjoyed each other as such; this was something he'd done  _with_ her, not  _to_ her. No matter what the future may hold; Margaret couldn't imagine ever regretting what had passed between them on this island.

They whiled away the afternoon by - and sometimes in - the pond laughing and loving; and shortly before dusk they dressed and returned to their shelter. Margaret warmed what remained of the fresh food Juliette had cooked for them, and they shared their meal between playful banter. After that, she undid the plait on the back of his neck and combed out his hair. It was still full, though streaked with grey, and cut in a way to allow for the styling of side-curls if he had a mind to. She briefly tried to imagine what he would look like, properly styled and coiffed - but found that she couldn't quite manage. The sun and the salty spray of the sea had dried his hair out, so Margaret fetched her beloved bottle of almond oil, worked some in, and brushed it until it shone in the light of their fire. "What is it you really want, Hector Barbossa?"

He didn't reply immediately, seemingly too caught up in the pleasant sensations of having one's hair cared for. "I grew up poor on a farm with a miserable drunkard of a father, and a mother who had wasted away by the time I was thirteen. Ran away to the sea, as many boys me age did. Dreamed of makin' a life fer meself as a sailor." He snorted. "But t' realities of that life soon caught up with me, though I didn't complain much the first few years. Beatin's and bad food I was used to."

Margaret continued to gently run the brush through his hair, saying nothing.

"But it soon became apparent that bein' an honest sailor wouldn't get me what I was wantin' - and that was t' freedom t' do as I pleased in some measure of security. T' be beholden t' no one. I be a pirate, aye, and scarce I know t' be anythin' else, but I s'pose what I wanted then was that easy life as those rich lords had. The ones who bought what we hauled, that lived in big houses with servants waitin' on them hand and foot. Bein' rich means freedom, Maggie. Bein' rich protects a man from hunger, from t' cold, from not knowin' what the future may hold. It gains one respect." He sighed. "But I noticed, same as me fellow pirates, that I was bad at holdin' on t' those riches as we gained. So I started t' learn things. Accountin', navigation. Strategy too. Thought that havin' me own ship would get me what I wanted. Was fine too, once I had me  _Cobra_. And then the feckless bastard Borya sunk her."

Margaret swiftly redid the plait in the nape of his neck while he was talking, and as soon as she was done, he shifted so he could lay his head into her lap. He closed his eyes and continued to speak. "And then Sparrow figured everythin' out, and later took me on as a first mate. The rest ye know. I come from nothin', Maggie, but I don't want t' end in nothin'. Dyin' makes a man order his priorities, and that is what I want - t' have somethin' t' show for me life. T' leave behind somethin' good."

They stayed like that for a while. It made sense, Margaret thought to herself as she caressed his weatherbeaten face with her fingertips, that he was trying to build a future. His involvement in Sickle Moon Cove, working with Teague to turn a bunch of lawless scavengers into a functioning society. The wish for a child of his own, as he had confessed that night they'd anchored at Yodle Bay. "I think you will, Hector. I think you will."

Eventually he rose and reached for the comb. "Let me return t' favour, Maggie, ye've a glorious head of hair, I don't think I'll ever tire of touching it."

Margaret just smiled and nodded. He had rather lovely hands, she thought to herself as she watched him work her comb through the curly ends of her hair, elegant and clever. Margaret blushed as she remembered exactly  _how_ clever.

When they had doused the lights gone to bed, Hector drew her into his arms. "Ye said that ye hate every rule of courtship, but... would ye accept me ring? I understand yer reluctance t' bind yerself to any man, t' give up yer independence, and I don't begrudge ye that. But should ye change yer mind, I promise t' wed ye. And ye know I always keep me word."

Margaret swallowed hard. "I... yes. Yes, I would. But I can't promise my feelings on the subject will ever change."

"If ye promise t' be mine, that is enough fer me, and I'll promise ye the same. The rest... time will tell," he said quietly.

Snuggling closer to him, she asked, "You'll move back into your quarters in Sickle Moon Cove, yes? Whenever you make port there, that is."

"Aye," he replied, "if yer other beast be allowin' it."

Margaret smiled against his chest, rubbing her cheek against the sparse hair there. "Oh, I think you will get along just fine, horrible scoundrels, the both of you."


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Babblerama: TRIGGER WARNING: TRAUMATIC CHILDBIRTH   
> In a fit of unfortunate foreshadowing, Carina managed to wrap her umbilical cord around her neck. And since none of the women in Sickle Moon Cove are proper midwives, they don't know what to do. You can bet that a midwife is on Barbossa's list of things to get for the settlement next.  
> And yes, the name Margaret is derived from the Latin word for "pearl." I'm not sure if it was deliberate, but I did get a good giggle out of it when watching DMTNT.

_"Something's wrong...."_

_"The babe has turned, but won't come out...."_

_"There's nothing we can do...."_

The voices of the women who were supposed to guide Margaret through the birth of their child reverberated inside Hector's head as he carried her down to the beach through the storm and the rain.

He didn't know if she was still alive; it was too dark, and he was too focused on carrying her to the water's edge to be able to tell if she still breathed. It took all his strength to make it there; Margaret was not a small woman, and he wasn't as young as he used to be, no matter how much he tried to deny it.

But he wouldn't -  _couldn't_ \- lose her. She'd become his treasure, the most valuable thing in his life, the most important. Today was supposed to be a joyous one, not one of tragedy and death. He was supposed to become a father, the one thing in his life that he wanted and that had so far eluded him.

Finally his boots sloshed into the waves and he sagged to his knees.

"CALYPSO!" he howled his pain and desperation into the night, "Calypso, hear me! I need... I need...." 

His famed (and sometimes ridiculed) eloquence failed him. A broken "Please!" was all he could manage.

But the ocean remained wordlessly enraged, throwing debris and violent waters at the small island the Brethren called home. Hector pulled the unmoving woman in his arms closer and curled over her, keening like a shot dog.

"You called to me Hectah. What is it ya want?"

He raised his head, and there, in the water, stood Calypso in the guise she had worn while bound in her bones. Trying to take a deep breath and failing (the pain in his chest didn't let him), all that passed his lips was a whisper. "Can you save them?"

Calypso drew closer and knelt at Margaret's side, running a gentle hand over her distended belly. "She on the threshold. There still be time, but you know there always is a price, Hectah Barbossa."

"Anything. Anything! Me plunder, all of it, if that's what ye want. I'll row t' Port Royal and deliver meself to the hangman's noose, if that's what it takes. Anything," he pleaded. "As long as they both live." He meant it. Hoped that she wouldn't ask this of him, yes, but he meant it.

"No Hectah, that is not what I ask. But if you want them, you must be with them. You will give da  _Black Pearl_  back to witty Jack," Calypso commanded him. "She meant to be his. You will find another ship, but first you must raise you daughter."

Give up the  _Pearl_? After everything he'd done to get her? But he could accept that. "Done," he croaked.

"Good," Calypso smiled, blackened teeth gleaming, as the waters rose to swirl around them. 

They were in a pocket of calm in the violent weather. It was almost silent, even though Hector could still see the huge waves not too far off and the palm trees whipping around like angry snakes.

"Hold her head above da water," Calypso instructed him and reached below the surface. There was a glow, and only a moment after, she lifted a small child up into the air. It let out a strong cry. She laid the babe down on Margaret's torso and smoothed a hand down her face. The water receded and his love took a deep breath.

Calypso opened Margaret's shift and helped Hector's newborn daughter to latch on to a nipple. "Take good care of her, Hectah, because ya love will not conceive again. The little one - she born to you and her mother, but she also born to da ocean. She will always be mine too. What will be her name?"

"Carina," he replied, that had been what he and Margaret had decided on in case she'd have a girl. "Her name is Carina, the brightest star in the north." He tried not to worry too much about what Calypso had said about his daughter also belonging to her. She was alive, Margaret was alive, and that was all that mattered for now. Everything else he'd deal with once the time came. "But why the  _Pearl_? Didn't ye once tell me that a pearl would be me destiny?"

Calypso laughed. "There more than just one precious pearl in the world, Hectah. Did ya never ask her what her name meant?"

He gazed at the two people he loved most in the world (not that that was a long list by any means), and when he looked back up to thank the goddess, she was already gone. He did it anyway, whether she heard him or not.

At the same time Margaret started to stir, he could hear shouts coming from the settlement. There were Margaret's friends hurrying towards them, bearing torches and a litter. They quickly helped him put Margaret upon it, and Molly deftly swaddled the babe in a warmed cloth. 

His love opened her eyes, noting the child in Molly's arms. "Hector, what happened? Why am I wet?"

Pure happiness bloomed in Hector's chest like he'd never thought he was capable of feeling. He smoothed a hand over her unruly, dark hair, sweeping it out of her face. "We have a daughter."

The tired but happy smile that spread over her face was a beautiful thing to behold. It did rankle him that he'd have to give up the best ship he'd ever sailed to Sparrow of all people, but he decided that it was not too high a price to pay for the lives of his daughter and his lioness who for some reason liked pretending she was a housecat.


End file.
